Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard Tournament
by DrizzleWizzle
Summary: (4/7) Harry Potter is Slytherin's Tri-Wizard Champion. Witches want him. Wizards want to be him. Death Eaters want to kill him. Even though Harry's selection is an attempt on his life, Harry doesn't see any reason not to enjoy the benefits of being a Champion… especially when that means snogging shapely witches. But will Harry become distracted from his primary goal: survival?
1. Chapter 1

For the first time in his life, Harry Potter had peace. The Dursleys had not been their usual selves in the summer after Harry's third year, which is to say that they had not been awful. It was not, however, for want of trying.

As soon as Uncle Vernon met Harry at King's Cross Station, Vernon had begun to bluster and threaten Harry. It seemed that Vernon had an entire year's worth of pent up anger to release, and he had simply been waiting for his favorite target to appear. True, Harry _had_ inflated Vernon's sister Marge the previous August, but she had been successfully deflated and obliviated, and nine months was quite a long time to hold a grudge for a relatively minor incident.

"Just wait until we get home," Vernon had said, already turning red in the face. "You think you know what work is? I'll teach you a new meaning for the word 'chores.' There will be no laying about this summer…"

"Did you know that I met my godfather this year?" Harry asked calmly.

"What do I care?" Vernon shouted.

"You'll know the name. Sirius Black?"

"The… wait… him!?"

"The mass murderer, yes. You know that my parents liked to hang about with a bad lot." Harry's parents had done nothing of the sort, but it would be impossible to convince Vernon otherwise. It was easier—and far more useful—to let him think Sirius was an escaped convict. "Well, Sirius dropped by school and I met him this year. Said he'd be looking in on me this summer. Not visiting, per se. Has to lay low, you understand. But he'd be checking on me, to make sure I was being treated right."

Vernon was shocked into silence, a silence that he maintained for the entire car ride home to Privet Drive. In fact, Vernon did not speak directly to Harry for almost a week after they arrived home. When Vernon finally addressed Harry, it was only to say, "Pass the salt."

Harry felt no great need to object to Vernon's silence, except that it made it difficult to raise the subject of Harry attending the World Cup of Quidditch. Every time Harry tried to speak with Vernon, the older man made some sort of excuse to slink away. Harry finally cornered his uncle when Vernon was doing dishes—the large man could not walk away from the sink with arms covered in soapy water.

"I'm going to the World Cup of Quidditch later this summer," Harry said.

"You most certainly will not!" Even though Vernon wasn't sure exactly what quidditch was, he knew that it involved _flying broomsticks_ being ridden by _those people_. Thus, Vernon reverted to his typical stance on all things involving _those people_: forbid everything.

"Yes, I am," Harry said. "My godfather is a big quidditch fan, and I already told him how excited I was to go to the World Cup."

"I don't care what your godfather is," Vernon said. "I am not paying for you to go see any of that nonsense!"

Harry frowned. He had apparently played his hand with Sirius too strong. Harry could only threaten the Vernon for so long before his bluff was called, and it appeared that the time had arrived. While Harry was certain that Sirius would support him, he didn't yet feel close enough to Sirius to actually call upon the older wizard for help. Luckily, Harry had a backup plan.

"I wasn't asking permission. I just thought you should know I'd be going. I'm getting picked up in July by Mr. Malfoy. He and I scheduled it with Headmaster Dumbledore at the end of the year," Harry said. Not precisely true, but close enough. "You remember Mr. Malfoy, don't you Uncle Vernon? Tall? Blond hair?"

Vernon's eyes narrowed. He remembered, but he still wasn't inclined to turn over Harry.

Harry pressed harder. "Maybe you don't remember him. Mr. Malfoy really liked the chandelier. He said it was a shame that it broke last year."

Color was starting to rise on Vernon's face, moving upward from his neck to his cheeks. Harry was almost there. Just one more push…

"Maybe you'd remember him if you turned your head upside down?" Harry said quietly.

"FINE. Go to the sodding cup! Bunch of freaks flying around on brooms, anyway. Who'd want to see that?" Vernon stormed away, face purple with rage.

Harry smiled to himself. He had what he wanted. He would play nice with Vernon for the rest of the summer—no need to provoke his uncle any further. Harry thought of it as Vernon's reward for being so easily manipulated, although Vernon would never see it that way.

Petunia and Dudley were treading lightly around Harry, as well, but their fear could only control them for a limited amount of time. Any time Petunia or Dudley was forced to interact with Harry, the conversation quickly escalated toward a fight. Petunia and Dudley lacked Vernon's rudimentary measure of self-control. Gentle reminders of Sirius and Mr. Malfoy, however, were usually enough to bring any argument with Harry's aunt and cousin to a screeching halt.

Ultimately, the Dursleys decided that ignoring Harry was the best course of action, and that was perfectly fine by Harry. It gave him plenty of time to write to his classmates, which was an activity that was taking far more time out of his summer than it ever had before.

At the end of term, Pansy had ordered Harry to write her more frequently during the summer, suggesting that Hedwig needed the exercise. (Hedwig, for her part, seemed to agree with Pansy.) Neither Hedwig nor Pansy, however, had anticipated the volume of correspondence that Harry would receive and send during his summer. Harry had always owled Draco with letters, but this was the first summer that Harry and Pansy had exchanged any significant amount of mail. Harry also found himself writing to Tracey with reasonable frequency, even though she was spending part of the holiday abroad with Daphne's family.

Hermione Granger had also started writing to Harry with regularity, which was a pleasant surprise. Harry was pleased that she had decided to write; it was always good to have another friend… especially when the majority of that friend's Hogwarts house hated your guts. The tone of Hermione's letters suggested that she felt quite close to Harry, and when Harry composed his responses, he realized that he was writing with a similar tone. He was quite looking forward to seeing Hermione again in the fall. Harry was strongly considering asking Hermione to join him in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, but that would certainly complicate things with Draco. And Pansy. And Tracey.

Too many friends, it seemed. A problem, but a good problem to have.

In addition to his friends, Harry had begun receiving tentative letters from Sirius. It was clear that the older man wanted desperately to be involved in Harry's life, but it was equally clear that Sirius vividly remembered his argument with Harry in the tunnel under the Whomping Willow. Harry found that Sirius had a good sense of humor and strong wit; owling Sirius was surprisingly similar to owling Draco.

Hedwig might have managed to keep up with the social letters if it were it not for Harry's two summer correspondence courses. Harry was spending most his evenings furiously studying Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, with an eye on taking exams in both subjects in late August. If he passed the exams, he would have those subjects on his schedule during the coming school year, in lieu of Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. As much as Harry hated to leave Hagrid, Dumbledore had told Harry that Arithmancy and Runes would help with spellcrafting.

What was frustrating Harry, however, was that he couldn't see how Arithmancy or Ancient Runes would actually help him write a spell. Arithmancy seemed to be mostly concerned with using numbers to predict the future; useful, but Harry couldn't figure out how to apply those principles to spell creation. Ancient Runes was just as perplexing—Harry could understand the use of knowing a rune that represented flight or water or fire, but modern spells were cast with an oral incantation, not by inscriptions. Moreover, Ancient Runes were _ancient_, but all the spells that Harry knew were quasi-Latin phrases that were clearly derived from more recent languages. Harry was dying to ask questions, but the correspondence course limited his ability to ask for clarification or practical applications of his lessons.

Even though Harry was mildly frustrated with his classes, the summer was actually going along rather swimmingly. True, he had some strange dreams involving Wormtail… most of which involved killing Pettigrew in an assortment of gruesome manners, except for one particularly vivid dream in which Wormtail murdered a muggle man… but nothing was bad enough to truly keep him awake at night. In fact, it hardly seemed like any time had passed before July, when Mr. Malfoy was scheduled to pick up Harry from Privet Drive. The night before Mr. Malfoy was scheduled to arrive, Harry gave Hedwig a rare night of rest from delivering mail; Harry hadn't wanted her to return to Privet Drive only to find him gone for the summer.

Hedwig was secured in her cage and Harry's trunk packed when Mr. Malfoy arrived the next afternoon. Harry had both the cage and his trunk sitting just inside the front door, and Harry himself was sitting atop the trunk. When Mr. Malfoy rapped the knocker, Harry had the door open before Mr. Malfoy could put his hand down.

"Are you ready to get away from these muggles?" asked Mr. Malfoy.

"I was born ready," Harry responded. Harry turned back to the house. "Mr. Malfoy's here!" he shouted. "I'm leaving! See you next summer!" Harry grabbed his things and dragged them into the front yard before his aunt or uncle could respond. "Are we apparating to Malfoy Manor?" Harry asked.

"Indeed. Please take a firm hold on your trunk and birdcage."

Harry grabbed his things tightly, and Mr. Malfoy seized his elbow. There was a twisting sensation, and Harry felt as if he was being pushed through a hole the size of a pinpoint. Then, with a mighty pop, the pressure was gone and Harry found himself standing outside Malfoy Manor.

"You can leave your things here, Harry," said Mr. Malfoy, walking toward the manor and gesturing for Harry to follow. "Draco and Narcissa will be down shortly, and we will be travelling to the quidditch cup by portkey." Mr. Malfoy turned away slightly. "DOBBY!"

*Crack!* Dobby, the Malfoy's house elf, appeared at Mr. Malfoy's feet, scampering to keep up with the long strides of the tall wizard.

"Dobby, please tell Lady Malfoy that I have returned, and that we should prepare to leave. Remind her that our portkey is set for precisely 11:30 AM."

"Yes, sir," Dobby said. His voice was quiet and submissive. With another *Crack!* he was gone.

"What's a portkey?" Harry asked. He was trying to distract himself from Dobby's appearance. The house elf had looked as if he had been beaten, in every sense of the word.

"A method of magical transportation. They take groups of wizards long distances, or to places where apparition is impractical. Because of the large volume of wizards attending the World Cup, the Ministry established a system of portkeys to transport groups of wizards to the stadium." Mr. Malfoy smiled. "Naturally, some accommodation has been made for particularly… worthy families. We have a personal portkey, which, as I mentioned, will activate in approximately one half-hour."

The front door of Malfoy Manor opened, and Draco stepped out. "Harry, do you want to catch a fly real quick? We can't bring brooms to the World Cup, so this will be your last chance."

"Absolutely! Can I borrow a broom?" Harry had left his Firebolt at Hogwarts for the summer, partly to keep it away from Dudley's destructive hands, and partly to avoid the temptation to fly. Harry certainly didn't need another Underage Magic citation, even though Mr. Malfoy had caused his previous citation to be "lost" by the Ministry.

"No," Draco said while rolling his eyes. "We don't have any extra brooms. We sold them all because we're hideously poor."

Harry laughed. "Let's go, then."

Draco brought out his Nimbus 2001 and handed Harry a Cleansweep 7. Harry's broom was a slightly older model, but still in pristine condition. It looked as if it had barely been used. He immediately flew into the air, leaving Draco behind on the ground. Draco pulled a quaffle out of the shed and joined Harry in the air.

"Have you heard who's going to be quidditch captain this year?" Harry asked Draco.

"Pucey, I assume," Draco said. He casually tossed the ball to Harry, who caught it easily. "Who else would it be? Bletchley and Flint graduated, and Derrik and Bole don't have heads for strategy."

Harry nodded. "I thought the same thing. Plus, Pucey is a seventh year. It's his last chance to be captain."

"It'll be Pucey." Draco drifted backwards, catching a throw from Harry that was slightly too strong. "Have you thought about fifth year, though?"

"What do you mean?"

"We'll have a rough go at it. No Flint, no Pucey, no Bletchley, no Derrik, no Bole. The only people left over from last year will be me and you."

"Don't forget about Warrington and Montague," Harry pointed out. "They're sixth years, now. They'll still be around."

"You played with them this year. Do you really want to rely on Warrington and Montague to win games?" Draco threw the ball back to Harry.

"Well, no." Warrington and Montague were adequate players who could be productive in the right situations, but they weren't anything you'd want to build a team around. "What about Urquhart? He makes a go at it every year."

Draco screwed up his face. "Urquhart is obnoxious. I'd rather play with six fliers than have Urquhart as our seventh."

Harry laughed. Urquhart was a notorious hanger-on with the quidditch team. He unsuccessfully tried to be friends with the team, unsuccessfully tried to talk strategy with the team, and, every year, unsuccessfully tried out for the team. The only person who didn't see the gap between what Urquhart knew and what Urquhart _thought_ he knew was Urquhart himself. It was becoming rather sad.

"Crabbe and Goyle?" Harry asked. "You said that they made fair beaters, and they'll be fifth years by the time Derrik and Bole are gone."

"So, Warrington, Montague, Crabbe, Goyle… on average, our team will weigh more than a hippopotamus."

"Are you calling me fat?" Harry tucked the ball under his arm and scowled.

"I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you, Pansy. I love what you've done with your hair." Draco began to laugh, and Harry made a rude gesture.

"Boys! Come down, there's only five minutes until the portkey!" Draco's mother was calling to them from a second-story window.

Draco and Harry immediately set down and locked up their brooms. They dashed around the front of the house and found an irritated looking Lucius Malfoy standing next to their trunks.

"The portkey leaves in one minute," Lucius snapped. "Do you think there will be another?"

"No, father," Draco said. "I apologize."

"Hrmph." Draco's father did not seem mollified. "Take hold of the portkey."

Draco reached out and grabbed a green flag that had been planted in the ground. The flag bore the silver logo of Slytherin house.

"This is the portkey?" Harry asked, taking hold of the flag.

"Most portkeys are something offensive, to prevent muggles from taking them up," Draco's mother said. "I requested something nicer, since we already have muggle-repelling charms on our estate."

"Quiet," said Lucius. "The portkey will activate in three…two… one…"

The flag stopped flapping in the air, and the flagpole began to shake in the ground. With a sudden jerk, the flag rocketed upward, spinning as it rose. Harry and the Malfoys corkscrewed through the air, finally on their way to the World Cup of Quidditch.

**A/N: **_And thus, the beginning of Book Four! Plan on this adventure lasting for the next nine to ten months, while I complete Book Five._

_Speaking of Book Five… as I was writing a quidditch scene last week, using OotP as a reference, I discovered that both Bletchley and Pucey were still on the Slytherin team during Harry's fifth year. Compare that to the chapter you just read, in which Bletchley graduated after Harry's third year, and Pucey will graduate at the end of Harry's fourth year. That's a huge gaffe on my part, and I apologize for it. I have tried my best to stay true to canon, but that one slipped through the cracks._

_As I said, I discovered this last week. I had two options: (1) Re-write a dozen scenes in this book and dramatically change my characterization of Pucey, Derrik, and Bole, or (2) Go with the mistake. I have decided that (2) is the correct course of action. We're just going with it._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _You know what, it's a holiday here in the States, so let's have a bonus chapter._

* * *

Harry and Draco had spent most of the weekend being led around by Draco's father. Lucius introduced Harry to an enormous amount of important people, most of whom Harry had already forgotten a name, or a face, or both. Several stood out, though, even after countless introductions.

Harry had no trouble recognizing or remembering Ludo Bagman, for example. Former beater for the Wimbourne Wasps, Bagman was absolutely famous. His body had grown a little paunchy from his days as the best beater in the league, but he was still a legend in his own time. Harry had gotten the impression that Bagman wasn't the smartest owl in the flock, though. Perhaps it was one too many bludgers in the head. Nevertheless, Bagman had an impressive position in the Ministry, and Harry couldn't help but remember Tracey's words from the previous year. Being good at quidditch meant more than winning at quidditch. Being good at quidditch meant fame, and fame could always be made into something more.

And whenever he thought of fame, Harry couldn't help but think of the portly gentleman who had approached Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy had introduced the man as Horace Slughorn, former Hogwarts professor and former head of Slytherin house. When Slughorn began to speak with Mr. Malfoy, the name dropping came fast and furious. Harry was able to keep up, at first, but only because most of the names were famous quidditch players. Slughorn made it clear that his connections to those players had resulted in significant amounts of special treatment at the World Cup.

After several minutes, Mr. Malfoy interrupted Slughorn to introduce Draco and Harry. Slughorn didn't bat an eye at Draco, but seemed almost physically shocked to hear Harry's name. Slughorn became positively effusive, extolling the virtues of Harry's mother and becoming approximately the thousandth person to mention that Harry looked just like his father, but with his mother's eyes. Slughorn then spotted another acquaintance, quite famous, and one who knew his soft spot for crystal pineapple. Slughorn begged away from the conversation, but insisted, absolutely insisted that Harry and Draco and Lucius visit him soon, quite soon.

"An excellent man to know," Lucius told Draco and Harry, "but a hard man to be around."

Harry agreed. His contact with Slughorn had lasted less than five minutes, but he was somehow exhausted from the effort.

Harry and the Malfoys had a private box from which they would watch the World Cup. As they had arrived at their box, Harry caught a glimpse of two familiar heads of hair, one bright red and the other bushy and untamed. Harry let the Malfoys step inside the private box before he called out.

"Oi! Ron! Hermione!"

"Hi Harry!" said Hermione, waving frantically. "I didn't know you'd be here!"

"I didn't know you'd be here, either," said Harry. "I didn't think you'd like quidditch." That, and there was no way that Ron should have been able to afford tickets.

"My family won tickets," Ron said, offering an answer to Harry's unasked question. "Dad entered a drawing at work on a whim. We had an extra, so I invited Hermione.

"We get to sit in the Minister's box!" Hermione was clearly more excited about the seeing the Minister than the World Cup.

"I'm here with Draco and his family," Harry said. "And it got me away from my muggles, which is the real treat."

Ron frowned. "I'd better get on, then. Last time my Dad saw Draco's dad, they almost dueled."

Harry remembered—he had been at Flourish and Blott's with Draco at the time. "Enjoy the match, then," Harry said. "Where's your tent? Maybe I'll stop by and say hello before we leave."

Ron gave Harry the approximate location of their tent ("Look for the guy who insists on wearing a muggle dress, then go two tents down.") and then left with Hermione for the minister's box. When Harry returned to the Malfoy's box, Draco immediately asked where he had been.

"I saw Granger," Harry said. "Stopped to say hello." Best to leave the Weasleys out of it altogether, Harry thought.

Draco rolled his eyes. "That little m…uggleborn is everywhere, isn't she?"

"It's like there's two of her," Harry said with a smile.

The World Cup was a thing of beauty, and it went beyond the veela mascots for the Bulgarian team. Watching the teamwork of the Irish chasers made Harry truly appreciate the effect that skilled chasers could have on a match. True, Krum flying as the seeker for Bulgaria was like poetry in motion, but the Irish chasers were so much better than the Bulgarian players that even Krum's advantage was overcome. Krum wound up catching the snitch despite being dramatically behind in points—Krum knew that his team would never catch up, but he had wanted to end the game on his own terms.

After the Malfoys returned to their tent, Harry found himself unable to sleep. Draco did not face the same problem, and was asleep in the bed next to Harry, snoring softly. Harry lay awake, imagining scenes from the match again and again. Watching Krum had given him some ideas for this year… assuming he beat Draco for the seeker position. If not, Harry would have to integrate some of the maneuvers that he had seen the Irish use.

Pfft. Who was he kidding? He'd be seeker. He was flat better than Draco.

Outside, Harry heard shouting and muffled rumbling. Harry rose and walked to the door of the bedroom, looking out into the main living space of the tent. Harry had been amazed to discover that the Malfoy's tent, although small on the outside, was the size of a small house on the inside. In fact, Harry strongly suspected that the tent was larger than the Dursley's house on Privet Drive.

In the living room, Harry saw that Narcissa was already awake. She was standing at the door of the tent, glancing out. When she turned back, she saw Harry standing in the bedroom door.

"Wake Draco," she said.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

"Some fools are marching through the camp, mugglebaiting. Lucius has gone to help. We've got to get you two to somewhere safe. Get Draco, and make sure you both have your wands."

Harry ran back to the bedroom and shook Draco awake. "Draco, come on. Get your wand, we have to go."

"What? Wand?"

"Your mom says we have to go, come on!" As Harry spoke, the sound of shouting voices grew louder and louder. There was an explosion, far too close for Harry's comfort. Harry grabbed his wand of the nightstand and dashed out of the room. He could hear Draco behind him, cursing as he followed.

Narcissa was standing at the door to the tent, her wand drawn. "Get to the woods as fast as you can. Stay there until somebody comes for you. I'm going to find Lucius." Narcissa stepped forward and hugged Draco, kissing him on the head. "Be careful." Narcissa stepped back and pushed Draco toward the door. Harry followed.

Outside the tent, the camp was in chaos. What had begun as a few shouts had turned into complete bedlam. Wizards were running in every direction, but nobody seemed to know what they were running from, or where they were running to. As Harry and Draco stepped into the crowd, they found themselves swept along by the mass of people, unable to truly direct themselves. Harry did his best to stay within arm's reach of Draco, and Draco did the same.

There was a bright flash of light to the north, and the campground was suddenly bathed in green light. Harry turned and saw several bodies suspended in the air, dangling upside-down by their feet. They seemed to be moving closer, almost directly at Harry and Draco.

Harry turned his eyes away from another blindingly bright flash of light. When he looked back, the bodies were much closer, floating at the end of his row of tents. Below them marched a crowd of wizards, laughing and pointing up in the air. They were dressed in black cloaks with raised hoods. Several wands were held aloft, keeping the bodies suspended in the air. Others in the crowd were casting spells at nearby tents, starting small fires and generally causing chaos. In the flashes of light cast by the spells, Harry could see that most in the crowd were wearing white masks that looked almost skeletal.

Draco began pulling Harry's arm. "Harry. We have to go. We have to get to the forest!"

"Who are they?" Harry asked. He felt an urge to charge at the crowd. They had no right to be doing what they were doing.

"You don't want to be standing around when they get here! Come on!" Draco dragged Harry toward the forest. Harry stumbled, then began to follow his friend.

The mob had begun to move in one direction: away from the robed figures. Harry and Draco were able to run along with the crowd, making their way into the forest and the relative safety of the darkness.

"Who were they?" Harry asked Draco, once they had slowed in the forest.

"Muggle baiters. Probably thought that we shouldn't have to conceal ourselves just to watch our own World Cup. Decided to do something about it."

Harry nodded. He had heard Draco's father express a similar sentiment several times throughout the week. For the most part, Harry agreed: wizards shouldn't have to hide themselves like common criminals. But Harry also understood the necessity for the Statute of Secrecy; if wizards were revealed to muggles, there were a limited number of possible outcomes, and none of them good. Muggles might decide to exterminate wizards out of fear, or enslave wizards for their powers. Power-hungry wizards would lend their strength to muggle nations, disrupting the tenuous balance of power and plunging the world into a third Great War. Religions might hail wizards as angels, demons, demigods, or the Second Coming, and thousands of muggles would ruin their lives out of fear for an impending apocalypse.

Nevertheless, Harry wished that he wasn't required to live in secrecy. He felt like a second-class citizen, hiding his greatest talent. It wasn't a crime to be a wizard, and Harry hated acting like it.

None of that, however, gave wizards the right to go muggle-baiting.

From deeper in the forest, Harry heard a voice speaking loudly. The tone was familiar: didactic, frustrated, and incredulous. Clearly the voice of Hermione Granger.

"Come on," Harry said to Draco. "I think I hear Hermione over there." Harry began walking, and Draco moved quickly to catch up.

"We shouldn't hang around her," Draco said. "You think that crowd of muggle-baiters won't be able to tell that she comes from muggle stock?"

Before Harry could reply, he heard Hermione's voice again. "No, Ronald, I _don't_ know where my wand is! I couldn't find it before we had to leave the tent!"

"See?" Draco said. "She doesn't even have her wand. They'll hoist her up, for sure."

"Not if we're around to protect her," Harry said.

"Please. _You_ can protect her. I'd rather make sure that I don't get killed." Draco shook his head. "I don't understand what you see in that girl!"

"And I don't understand what you see in Crabbe and Goyle, but at least Hermione can help me with my homework." As Harry finished speaking, he stepped into a small clearing. Hermione was standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at Ron Weasley. Off to the side was Ron's little sister, Ginny. Ron was the first to see them.

"Oh, great, just what we need: a Malfoy."

Harry ignored him. "Where is everybody? I thought you were here with your dad."

"Dad's gone to help the ministry. Trying to put out fires, help the wounded, stop the riot." Ron glanced at Draco and snorted. "Your dad's probably out there wearing a robe and a mask, right Malfoy?"

"He isn't," said Harry.

"And what if he is?" said Draco, at the same time.

Harry and Draco looked at one another, both slightly surprised.

"He isn't," Harry repeated firmly. "Draco's mum said that Mr. Malfoy had gone to help, too."

"Help the Death Eaters, you mean," said Ron.

Draco raised his wand to hex Ron, but Harry stepped in front of Draco before the blonde boy could cast any spells.

"Lay off it, Ron," Harry said. "For one night. We're all out here in the cold for the same reason."

Ron rolled his eyes and turned his back on Draco.

"I'll get him at Hogwarts," Draco mumbled from behind Harry. There was a rustle of robes as Draco put his wand away.

"You lay off it, too," Harry said quietly.

"Of course my father isn't out there," Draco whispered. "Why would he be? If he got caught, he'd lose everything. He'd be kicked off the Hogwarts Board of Governors, he'd lose political pull, he'd lose business… it just isn't worth it. But that stupid Gryffindor can't see past the green and silver on our robes."

"I know it's stupid," Harry said. "But you don't have to provoke him."

"Whatever." Draco moved away from Harry, as far away from Ron as he could be while still staying in the clearing.

Harry glanced over at Hermione. The bushy-haired girl had moved closer to Ginny, and had wrapped her arm around the younger girl's shoulders. It was rather cute that Hermione thought that she was protecting Ginny, when Hermione was the witch without a wand. Ginny, meanwhile, had her wand drawn and was glancing around the forest, looking for any sort of threat.

Exasperated by both Ron and Draco, Harry walked over to the pair of girls. "Lost your wand, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded. "I was so tired after the match that I went straight to sleep when we got to the tent. Then Mr. Weasley woke us up and sent us into the forest, and I couldn't find it anywhere."

"It'll turn up," Harry said. "It's not like it walked away on its own, right?"

"_MORS_ _MORDRE_!" The voice shouting the spell was gruff and low, certainly not Ron or Draco. Harry drew his wand and spun around, looking for the caster, and Ginny did the same. The clearing was cast in a green light, but Harry couldn't see anybody.

"It's the Dark Mark," Ginny whispered.

Harry looked up. Suspended in the air above the clearing was a horrific skull, made of glowing green sparks. A snake slithered from the skull's mouth and writhed about in the sky.

All around the clearing, there were sudden *cracks!* of apparition. Harry dove forward, grabbing Hermione and Ginny and pulling them to the ground. "GET DOWN!"

Red flashes of light blasted about the clearing, and Harry heard several adult voices shouting, "Stupefy!" There was a flash of red as somebody was struck by the stunner, and then voices were shouting over one another in a horrible cacophony.

"Who did it? Which one of you?"

"Stop it! Those are my children!"

"Cease this foolishness at once!"

Harry glanced at the girls lying on either side of him. Neither had been stunned, which was a relief, but both girls seemed irritated that Harry had tackled them. Ginny, in particular, seemed put out. A war of emotions seemed to be playing across her face. She finally pushed Harry away, mumbling, "I can take care of myself, you know."

Harry felt rough hands grabbing at his back. He was dragged to his feet and spun around to face a thin man with a dark mustache.

"Mr. Crouch?" Harry recognized him from Dumbledore's memory, even though they had never met.

"Which one of you was it?! Who cast the dark mark?" Crouch's thin, reedy voice was unmistakable.

"None of us did it," Harry said. "We heard somebody else's voice, and then we saw the mark."

"Nonsense! There's nobody else here!" Crouch grabbed the front of Harry's robes and shook him. "Who did it?"

Voices began to shout from the clearing. "Crouch, stay calm. Don't you realize who that is?"

A second voice spoke: "Unhand him, you fool!"

Harry looked past Crouch and into the meadow. Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy had both appeared and were approaching Crouch.

"That's Harry Potter," Mr. Weasley said. His was the calm voice from moments earlier. "If there's one person who didn't cast the Dark Mark, it's him."

Crouch turned back to Harry. He cocked his head to one side, then roughly pushed Harry's hair upward, exposing the lightning-bolt scar on Harry's forehead. With a sound of disgust, Crouch pushed Harry away. "Then it was one of the others!"

"They're my children," Arthur Weasley said again. "This is Ron and Ginny and their best friend Hermione."  
"And the other is my son, Draco," Lucius said.

"That does not weigh in his favor," Crouch said coldly.

"Draco's my best friend," Harry said. "He didn't cast it."

"See? Even Harry Potter vouches for him," Lucius said. His voice dripped with contempt. "They're all children, Crouch. You're still jumping at shadows after all these years."

"SIR! OVER HERE!" A wizard in a ministry uniform was shouting from across the clearing. "We found something!"

"Shadows, eh, Malfoy?" Crouch stormed across the clearing. "What is it, Dawlish?"

Everybody followed Crouch across the clearing, including Harry and Hermione and Ginny. After Arthur and Lucius had vouched for Harry, the ministry employees were now completely ignoring the young witches and wizards.

"A house elf, sir, and a wand!" The ministry official—Dawlish—was pulling back the branches of a bush. There was a small house elf lying on the ground, and next to the elf was a wand.

"Winky?" Crouch seemed to recognize the elf.

"You know this elf?" asked Lucius.

"It's… it's my house elf. I brought her along to the World Cup." Crouch bent down and _reenervated_ the elf. "Winky, what are you doing here?"

"Winky came after Master Crouch, sir. Then Winky found Master Crouch and this wand, and Winky was hit by a spell." Something seemed wrong about what the elf was saying, but Harry couldn't quite understand what it was.

Crouch stood and handed the wand to Dawlish. "Dawlish, test this wand for prior spells."

"Hey!" Before Harry could stop Hermione, she stepped forward and spoke. "That's my wand!"

"Hermione, be quiet!" Harry grabbed her and tried to pull her back, but the damage had been done. Harry could only watch, helpless, as Dawlish examined Hermione's wand. With a muttered word from the auror, the last spell cast by Hermione's wand revealed itself: _Mors_ _Mordre_, the incantation for the Dark Mark.

Hermione went pale, suddenly realizing her mistake. "I… I lost it back at the tent… When we ran away, I just rushed out into the forest…"

"It's true!" said Ron, immediately jumping to Hermione's defense. "Ginny and I had to protect her the whole way, because we were the only ones with wands."

Crouch stepped forward. "Girl, you have admitted that this was your wand, and the last spell cast was the Dark Mark. Who else could have cast it, except for you?"

"The… the house elf?" Hermione's voice was quiet.

"House elves cannot perform wanded magic. It must have been you, girl!" Crouch leaned down, his face stretched into a horrific grin, exposing large white teeth. "Admit it, and it will be easier on you."

Harry stepped forward, placing himself between Crouch and Hermione. "She didn't cast it. I was looking right at her. She didn't have a wand in her hand when the mark was cast." As Harry spoke, Arthur Weasley pulled Hermione back, gently pushing her behind him. Meanwhile, Lucius Malfoy stepped behind Harry and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"We found the wand used to cast the Dark Mark," Crouch snapped. "In that same clearing was the owner of the wand. We arrived less than one minute after the Mark was cast. Are you suggesting that this is a coincidence?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"She clearly cast the Dark Mark and then threw her wand away in fear!"

"Prove it."

Harry stared at Crouch, and Crouch stared furiously back. Harry glared at him, defiant, refusing to back down, drawing strength from Mr. Malfoy's silent support. Finally, Crouch turned away. "Search the surrounding woods! Search for any sign of another wizard!" Before anybody else could say a word, Crouch himself had stalked away into the night.

"Well done, my boy," said Lucius. "Crouch is a tiger who lost his claws long ago."

"He's a bully is what he is," Hermione said, her voice choked with tears.

Arthur Weasley stepped forward and extended his hand. "Thank you for your support, Lucius."

"Don't think for a second that I did this for your precious little mudblood," Lucius said. Behind Arthur, Hermione broke down into complete sobs.

Arthur dropped his hand and narrowed his eyes. "Still holding a grudge against Crouch from that trial, eh, Malfoy? And here I thought you might have actually changed for the better."

"When compared to blood traitors like you, I will _always_ be better." Lucius pushed Harry's shoulder lightly, directing him toward Draco. "Come along, boys. There is nothing else for us here."

Before Harry could say a word, Lucius had grabbed Draco's arm as well, and the three of them had apparated back to Malfoy Manor.

"Father, wait. Mother is still back at the campground," Draco said.

"Your mother found me shortly after the riot began," Lucius said. "I sent her home, for her safety, while I went to find you. Go on inside—I'm sure she wants to know that you are safe."

Harry followed Draco up the broad stone steps and into the manor. As soon as they stepped inside, Mrs. Malfoy burst out of the drawing room and enveloped both boys in a hug. Harry was rather surprised; the Malfoys were not demonstrative when it came to affection. Mrs. Malfoy was rather bonier than Mrs. Weasley, but her embrace was just as strong. She held Harry and Draco in the hug for several seconds, and was reluctant to release them, as if she didn't believe that they had actually arrived home safely.

"I'm proud of you two for keeping each other safe," Mrs. Malfoy said. Her eyes glinted in the soft light—was she starting to cry? "You're both growing up to be such fine men. I just don't know what I'd do without you." She stepped back slightly, finally releasing Harry and Draco from the hug. "Off to bed with you. Get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _If you didn't check earlier in the week, there was a bonus chapter on Monday, to celebrate the (U.S.) holiday. Also, I'm anxious to get a bit farther into the story._

* * *

The week following the World Cup was, surprisingly, boring. Although the _Daily Prophet _published several articles full of rampant speculation, there was no actual news to be had of the Death Eater riot. No muggles had been permanently harmed. No the Death Eaters had been caught. Even the caster of the Dark Mark was still at large. In fact, it appeared that the casting of the Dark Mark had ended the riot—once the Mark was in the air, the rioters immediately dispersed. Eventually, Harry gave up looking for news; if something interesting happened, he'd be sure to hear it from Mr. Malfoy.

Harry's examinations for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes were quickly approaching. With so little time left in the summer, Harry shifted his focus from quidditch to revising. Each day, he spent a significant portion of time in the Malfoy's library. In the afternoon he would take a break, usually to play quidditch or chess or Exploding Snap with Draco, and then to eat dinner. After dinner was finished, however, Harry would close himself in the library and resume his revisions.

The day before Harry's examinations were set to arrive in the post, Draco spent half the morning trying to persuade Harry to take a break to play quidditch. "If you study right until your exam, you'll go crazy," Draco said. "Just come out for an hour or so."

"I have to make sure I pass," Harry said. "If I don't, I'll have to work twice as hard to catch up and transfer next summer. It'll be the worst."

"Fine, fine. I'm going to go practice catching a snitch. When I beat you for seeker this year, you'll look back on today and know that you made the wrong choice."

Harry laughed and waved. As Draco reached the door, he bumped into his father. As Mr. Malfoy walked over to Harry's table and sat, Draco gave a long look over his shoulder before slowly leaving the library.

"Harry? Can you spare a moment to speak with me?" Mr. Malfoy asked.

"Of course." Harry put down his quill and pushed his book aside.

"You've been studying rather diligently this summer. I was wondering if you had a particular reason?"

"I'm transferring a couple of classes, and I don't want to be behind the rest of my year in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes."

"Are you being treated fairly at Hogwarts, Harry?" Mr. Malfoy had a look of concern on his face—it was an unfamiliar expression.

"Er… yes? Mostly." Harry was thinking that Snape seemed to prefer the Slytherins rather blatantly, but that wasn't anything to complain about.

"Who isn't treating you fairly, Harry? If it was Minerva McGonagall or that half-breed Lupin, I can have a word with the trustees. Nobody should hold your house against you."

"No, it isn't that at all." Harry shook his head and smiled. Lupin had been nothing but kind last year, and McGonagall was fair, almost to a fault. "I've dropped Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. It doesn't have anything to do with being treated poorly; I just wanted to pay more attention to spellcrafting."

Mr. Malfoy nodded. "Ambitious. I certainly approve. I have always thought that Divination and Care of Magical Creatures were rather… soft options. Moreso now that Care of Magical Creatures is being taught by that oaf, Hagrid." Mr. Malfoy shook his head. "I wish that Draco had the foresight that you do, Harry."

There was a thump in the hallway. Harry glanced up toward the door, but saw nothing.

"Divination and Care of Magical Creatures are great," Harry said. "They're just not for me. Professor Trelawney spent most of last year predicting my death, and I've had enough of that for one lifetime. And if I'm going to take one spellcrafting class, why not take both?"

Mr. Malfoy stood. "Don't be so modest, Harry. Your talent would be wasted if you continued in Divination and Care of Magical Creatures." Mr. Malfoy reached out and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You'll go far in the world, Harry. I'm proud of you."

Harry flushed. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

"I'll leave you to your studying. Good luck on your examinations. Dinner will be at seven."

"Thanks."

As Mr. Malfoy stood, there was another mysterious thump in the hallway. Harry looked for a second, but there was nothing to be seen. He turned back to his books, wishing that he had time to go flying with Draco.

After a few minutes of studying, Harry heard music. It was the soft sound of the Malfoy's piano. The song was slow and low, and the occasional high notes seemed lonely and isolated in the otherwise gloomy song. Harry had never known Mr. or Mrs. Malfoy to play the piano, though. He had only ever heard Draco playing.

Harry glanced out the window. Draco, despite what he said earlier, was not flying on the quidditch pitch.

Harry resolved that, after he was finished revising, he would ask Draco why he had changed his mind about flying. But by the time dinner came, Harry had forgotten altogether.

Dinner was an unusually quiet affair. Harry was preoccupied with thoughts of the next day's examinations, and Draco was in a bad mood. Narcissa and Lucius carried on a quiet conversation related to Lucius's work, but there was little to say; Lucius was apparently working on a secret project for the Hogwarts Board of Governors that involved acting as a liaison with Durmstrang, a magic school from Eastern Europe.

Although he was only half-listening to the conversation, Harry's interest had been piqued. He hadn't known of any magic schools other than Hogwarts. Of course, they had to exist—wizards were born all over the world, and not everybody could be educated in England. But Harry had never been able to attach a name or location to another school.

"What's Durmstrang like?" Harry asked during a lull in the conversation.

"It's highly selective, and highly competitive," Lucius said. "The students are in constant competition with one another; the weak are whittled away, while the strong are forged into some of the most powerful wizards on the continent. And unlike Hogwarts, Durmstrang does not shortchange any branch of magic." Lucius looked at Draco. "Narcissa and I briefly considered sending Draco to Durmstrang, actually."

Draco did not acknowledge that his name had been mentioned, and continued to eat quietly.

"I couldn't bear to have our son so far away," said Narcissa. "Even though Hogwarts is a boarding school, we can visit occasionally, and Draco can come home for holidays."

"You both went to Hogwarts, though, didn't you?" Harry asked.

"Yes, but that was before Dumbledore was headmaster," Lucius said. "Since the school has entered Dumbledore's stewardship, I must say that standards have fallen."

"Mmm." Harry made a non-committal noise and took a drink of his pumpkin juice. The enmity between Dumbledore and Lucius Malfoy was no secret, but Harry didn't share in Lucius Malfoy's opinion. Harry rather liked Dumbledore, even if the old man was constantly asking Harry to lie to his best friends.

"Luckily, Hogwarts will have an opportunity to restore its former prestige this winter," Mr. Malfoy was saying.

"How is that, father?" Draco had finally taken interest.

"For the first time in many years, Hogwarts will be placed in direct competition with Durmstrang Academy and Beaxbatons Institute. I'm not able to say more." Mr. Malfoy smiled at Harry and Draco. "Suffice it to say that you will have an exciting year at school."

Later that night, as they lay in their beds, Harry began to speculate about the possibilities of the competition among the schools. Although Draco was initially reluctant, he slowly joined Harry in the rampant guessing. Harry was in favor of a series of all-star quidditch matches, while Draco was leaning toward a dueling tournament. Eventually, it was Harry who had to beg out of the conversation; his exams would start in the morning and last until dinner, and he had to get _some_ sleep if he wanted to pass.

*!*!*

Harry hauled his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express, giving a quick wave to Mrs. Malfoy before he stepped through the door. Draco was a few steps ahead, already looking for a compartment.

Harry's exams had gone rather easily, which worried him. He had completed both examinations quickly and hadn't found any of the questions to be overly difficult. In the days following the examinations, Harry had convinced himself that the examinations were much more difficult than they appeared, and that their apparent ease was caused by Harry's dramatic lack of knowledge on the subject. Harry was certain that his knowledge was so limited that he didn't even realize how little he knew. Worst of all, Harry wouldn't know the results of the exams until he arrived at Hogwarts and was issued his new schedule.

In a desperate attempt to distract himself, Harry and Draco constantly took to the quidditch pitch in the last few days before the start of the term. They hardly came into the manor, except for meals. Harry planned to be in mid-season form at the start of the year, and Draco was doing his best to keep pace; after last year's grounding from the quidditch team, Harry wasn't taking any chances about tryouts. Moreover, if some sort of inter-scholastic quidditch tournament were taking place, Harry planned on making the team.

As Harry and Draco moved down the train, they glanced into the compartments, looking for a place to sit. Harry waved as he passed a compartment with Hermione and Ron and Ginny. The girls waved back, and Ron gave a brief nod in greeting.

Harry bumped into Draco's back. Harry turned and saw that his friend had been stopped by Adrian Pucey.

"Hey Pucey, how was your summer?" Harry asked.

"Shut up, Potter. Which of you is it?"

Draco turned back and glanced at Harry. Harry shrugged; he had no idea what Pucey was talking about.

"Who's what?" Draco asked.

"Which of you is captain?" Pucey snapped.

"Quidditch captain? You are," Harry said to Pucey. "I mean, it's not Derrick or Bole, is it?" Harry laughed.  
"No, and it's not me either," Pucey said. "Which of you got the badge?"

"We didn't," Harry said.

"Oh, I get it," said Pucey. "You want to have a big dramatic revelation in front of the whole house. Get all the attention out of it." Pucey pointed a finger in Harry's face. "That's complete rubbish, and you know it."

"Come off it, Pucey. It isn't us." Draco pushed Pucey's hand away from Harry. "Snape gave you the list of first year fliers last spring, just like he always gave one to Flint. If anyone's captain, it's you."

"Then you tell me why I didn't get the badge this summer," Pucey said, turning on Draco. "Maybe Daddy bought you a captaincy this summer, just like he bought you a spot on the team?"

"I deserve to be on this team, and everybody knows it," Draco said quietly, voice full of anger.

"Don't be so sure of yourself," Pucey said. "You'll never really know, because you'll always be flying Daddy's broom."

Draco snarled and pushed Pucey in the chest. The older boy staggered backwards, briefly losing his balance. As soon as Pucey regained his footing, he darted forward and grabbed Draco by the cloak, pushing the blonde boy against the corridor wall.

"Pucey, let him go," Harry said under his breath. "Everybody is watching."

Pucey looked around. All foot traffic had stopped to watch the fight, and several heads had poked out of compartments to see what was causing the commotion.

"Don't make me hex you," Harry said, still speaking softly. "Snape will kill us both for bickering in front of a bunch of Hufflepuffs. But I'll do it if I have to."

Pucey let go of Draco's cloak. "Bugger off, Potter." Pucey grabbed his trunk and stormed away.

Draco smoothed his cloak, trying to regain his composure. As the other students realized that no fistfight was going to erupt, they stopped gawking and returned to their business.

"Pucey's a prat," Draco said. "What did he want to hear?"

"I dunno," Harry said. But something was tickling Harry's curiosity. Harry turned and began walking back the way he had come.

"Hey, where are you going?" Draco asked. "Those compartments are all taken."

"I have to check on something," Harry said. "I'll come find you in a few minutes."

Draco shrugged, and continued down the train. It only took Harry a few steps to return to Hermione and Ron's compartment. He knocked on the door, and Hermione waved for him to come inside. Hermione and Ron were sitting on one side of the compartment, and Ginny was sitting on the other. A large trunk sat on the bench next to Ginny, between her and the window.

"Hi, Harry! How are you?" Hermione asked.

"Good," Harry said. "You doing okay after the World Cup?"

Hermione nodded. "It was scary while it was happening, but I'm trying not to let it bother me."

"Crouch is an arse," Ron grumbled. Ginny burst out laughing.

"Ronald!" Hermione hit Ron on the back of the arm. "That's crude."

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong," Ron said.

A small voice spoke from beside Ginny. "Please don't say things like that about Master Crouch."

Hermione turned and looked across the compartment. "He treated you horribly. You don't owe him anything." Hermione appeared to be talking to the empty air next to Ginny's trunk.

"Master Crouch was a good master. Winky was a bad elf."

Harry leaned forward. On the other side of the trunk sat a familiar looking house elf, so small that Harry hadn't been able to see her over Ginny's luggage. A small winter hat was balanced atop the elf's head, resting above the elf's bat-like ears. The tips of the ears drooped sadly.

"Is that Crouch's elf?" Harry asked.

"Used to be," Ron said. "We're taking her to Hogwarts."

"Dad got her a job with Dumbledore," Ginny said. "Crouch was so mad at the World Cup that he gave Winky a hat."

"Wait. What?" Harry was utterly confused.

"If you give clothing to a house elf, they are released from service," Hermione said. "For some reason, most elves _want _to be enslaved. They consider the giving of clothes to be the ultimate punishment." Hermione frowned. "It leaves me utterly baffled."

The sound of soft crying rose from beyond the trunk. "Winky didn't want to be a bad elf…"

"It'll be okay, Winky," Ginny said. "You'll get to help lots of people at Hogwarts."

"Are they good wizards?" Winky asked.

"Some of the best," Ginny said. Harry caught Ginny's eye, and the redheaded girl gave him a sad smile. "She's been taking it really hard," Ginny said.

The elf stood quickly, her head popping up over the trunk. "But Miss Weasley is so nice to Winky, even though Winky is a bad elf. Would Miss Weasley like anything when Winky gets to Hogwarts?"

"Um, I do like hot chocolate before bed…"

"Winky will get Miss Weasley hot chocolate before bed!" The house elf smiled, and tears pooled up in her large eyes. "Winky is so happy!" The elf plopped down in the seat and began to cry in loud and dramatic sobs.

"You shouldn't take advantage," Hermione said to Ginny.

"But it makes her happy!" Ginny protested.

Hermione made a harrumphing noise and crossed her arms. "Doesn't make it right."

"Now you sound like Ron," Ginny said. Hermione harrumphed again and looked out the window. Ginny grinned at the older girl's discomfort, then turned back to Harry. "Are you riding to Hogwarts with us?"

Harry started, startled by her question. "Oh, no." Ginny's smile dropped just the tiniest bit at the corner of her mouth. "Sorry," Harry said. "I just had to ask Ron something. Wood graduated last year, right? Who's Gryffindor's quidditch captain this year?"

"Er… Angelina, I guess?" Ron shrugged. "She's older than Katie and Alicia."

"But nobody has said anything?"

Ron shook his head. "Nope."

"Thanks." Harry turned to leave, but then glanced back toward Ginny's trunk, where Winky's violent sobs had dissolved into quiet crying. "Winky, I happen to know that the Headmaster is partial to lemon drops. Myself, I enjoy the occasional peppermint. At your convenience."

The sobs began anew. "Harry *sob* Potter *sob* is so nice *sob* to Winky!"

Hermione turned and glared at Harry. "Now you've really done it."

"I think he's being nice," Ginny said, jumping to Harry's defense.

"He's not the one who has to deal with a crying elf for the whole trip!" Ron said.

Harry ducked out of the compartment while the Gryffindors were distracted. Ron was right—the elf's crying was an awful sound.

Harry started walking toward the end of the train. In one compartment he found Tracey and Daphne, sitting with Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott. Harry said hello to his classmates, then continued down the corridor, looking for Draco. Harry found his friend in a compartment with Pansy near the end of the train. Like Harry and Draco, Pansy hadn't yet put on her robes, so she was still dressed in her jeans and a simple shirt.

As soon as Harry opened the door, Pansy was out of her seat and hugging Harry. She wasn't shy about it, either; this wasn't a "lean forward and touch shoulders" hug, this was a complete embrace. Harry hugged back with the arm that wasn't pulling his trunk.

As Harry hugged Pansy, he noticed that the dark-haired girl had changed quite a bit over the summer. She still had the same upturned nose, and her black hair was still cut short in its familiar bob, but the rest of Pansy had become quite a bit more… curvy. There was something about the way her jeans fit that Harry couldn't quite describe, but it was rather appealing. And as for Pansy's shirt, well, the changes there were much more noticeable.

Harry suddenly realized that he had been hugging Pansy for several seconds too long. Harry stepped back from the hug quickly. Harry had noticed Pansy's changes, but Harry hoped that Pansy hadn't noticed that Harry had noticed. If she did, then Harry hoped that he wouldn't notice that Pansy had noticed that he had noticed. And he certainly hoped that Draco hadn't noticed him noticing Pansy.

If anybody had noticed anything, everything would get all awkward.

Harry glanced over at Draco. Draco arched an eyebrow and smirked. Draco, clearly, had noticed. Harry felt himself begin to blush as Pansy started to speak.

"Harry! Did you see the riot at the World Cup? Draco refuses to tell me a thing!" If Pansy was thinking about the World Cup, then maybe Pansy hadn't noticed all the noticing. Maybe.

Probably not.

"Nothing happened, Pansy," Draco said. "We ran and hid in the woods, big deal."

Pansy looked at Harry and pouted, sticking out her lower lip slightly. "See. He won't tell me anything." Her lips seemed very red against her pale skin.

Harry knew that Draco was trying to play it cool. If a riot at the World Cup wasn't a big deal to Draco, then Draco had to be a big deal himself. Eventually, he would cave and tell Pansy what happened, constantly emphasizing that he was above it all. It was clever, and extremely effective… unless somebody else stole your thunder.

"You mean that he won't tell you about how we were directly under the Dark Mark?" Harry asked. "How we were attacked by Ministry Aurors and Hit-Wizards? How we were accused of casting illegal curses? How I saved us all from being arrested by Barty Crouch?" Across the compartment, Draco narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. Harry ignored him; Draco deserved this for smirking at Harry.

"Really, Harry?!" Pansy gasped and touched her hand to her collarbone. The gesture drew Harry's eyes to her hand, then slightly lower… Harry blushed and glanced looked away. "Tell me everything."

"At least let me sit down," Harry said with a grin. "I won't hold back, I promise."

Pansy stepped back into the compartment and sat down on the bench across from Draco. Harry stowed his trunk away, then took the empty seat next to Pansy.

Pansy immediately put her hand on Harry's arm. "Harry, if you don't start talking right now, I'm going to start hexing you."

"Okay, okay." Harry patted Pansy's hand, and left his fingers there just a little too long before he pulled away. Draco glared at him, and Harry sent back a little smirk of his own. Take that, Draco.

As Harry began to regale Pansy with stories of the World Cup, he felt himself begin to relax. He was going to Hogwarts. He could cast spells. He was among friends, and he was a wizard, once again.

It was going to be a good year. The best so far. Harry could feel it in his bones.


	4. Chapter 4

After Harry and Draco dropped their trunks off at their dormitory, they made their way to the Welcoming Feast. As they walked through the common room, Draco caught sight of Urquhart sitting near the fireplace.

"Quick," Draco said, "Or else he'll see us."

Harry picked up his pace, but it was too late. Urquhart leaped to his feet and sped across the common room, not quite breaking into a run. Urquhart still looked ridiculous; walking at that speed, he reminded Harry of the old women who would go buzzing around Privet Drive in the early mornings during the summer.

"Harry! Draco! Congratulations, you guys!" Urquhart's voice was obsequious and grated on Harry's ears.

"What are you congratulating us about, Urquhart?" Draco asked.

"Well, one of you is quidditch captain!"

"What makes you think that?" Harry said. There was no need to make things easy on the little sycophant. If Urquhart was going to accost them before they even made it out of the common room, then Harry was going to make Urquhart work for whatever it was that he wanted. Over Urquhart's shoulder, Harry saw Pansy and the rest of the fourth year girls leave the common room for the feast.

"It isn't Pucey or Derrick or Bole or Montague or Warrington, so it has to be one of you two!" Urquhart smiled triumphantly. He was proud of his reasoning, as if he had just completed some sort of difficult logic puzzle. "I want you two to know that it was a great choice. You're both such good players. You really understand the game."

"Do you even know who got the badge?" Draco asked, carefully avoiding any claim of actually being named captain.

"Er… no? But either way, I want you guys to remember me at tryouts. I've always believed in you two."

Harry frowned. "Don't I remember you complaining when we made the team over you in our second year?"

Urquhart started to turn red. "That was just in the heat of the moment. Now that I've seen you play for a couple of years, I know that Flint made the right decision. I needed to get better."

Draco laughed in Urquhart's face. "Is there anything you wouldn't say to make the team?"

"Hey, I'm serious!" Urquhart was now completely flushed. "I've been practicing."

"I'm sorry, Urquhart," said Draco, who didn't sound sorry at all. "But I'm not the captain, and neither is Harry."

"Come on, guys. It's just me!" Urquhart reached out with his hand and patted Harry on the upper arm. Harry assumed that the gesture was supposed to feel chummy and familiar, but it came off as stilted and awkward. "You can tell me!"

"Urquhart, shut up and listen!" Harry's annoyance boiled over into anger. Harry was certain that, at some point in his life, he must have heard a sound more annoying that Urquhart's voice… but Harry certainly couldn't think of any time off the top of his head. "It isn't me. It isn't Draco."

"But… it has to be! Who else is there?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "And right now, I don't care. We're late to the feast and I'm starving." Harry brushed past Urquhart and continued through the common room. "Come on, Draco. Maybe Pansy saved us a seat."

Draco followed Harry out of the common room. When the two boys arrived at the Great Hall, the Slytherin table was mostly filled. Pansy was seated next to Blaise, and there were no other open seats around.

As Harry looked down the table he saw Tracey Davis, who waved him over. Tracey was sitting near Daphne Greengrass and Theo Nott. There was a pair of empty seats next to the group, one seat on each side of the table. Harry moved to take the seat next to Tracey, and Draco took the long way around the table to the other chair.

As Harry walked down the table, he passed by Derrick and Bole, the Slytherin beaters. The older students greeted him cheerfully.

"Hey, is one of you Quidditch captain?" Harry asked.

Bole shook his head. "Pucey asked the same thing. Not us."

"We thought it would be you or Draco," Derrick said. "A little young, maybe, but Flint was captain before his seventh year, too."

"It isn't either of us," Harry said.

Bole frowned. "Please tell me it isn't Urquhart."

"It isn't anybody, as far as I can tell," said Harry. He patted Derrick on the shoulder. "Enjoy the feast, you guys. I'll talk to you later."

Derrick and Bole said goodbye, and Harry continued down the table. Harry took his seat next to Tracey. They were sitting across from Draco and Daphne, and Nott was sitting on Tracey's other side.

"Thanks for saving these for us," Harry said.  
"Not a problem," said Tracey. "I was sad that we couldn't talk on the train, so I convinced Blaise to take the last empty seat next to Pansy."

"He wasn't difficult to convince," Theo said. Blaise's crush on Pansy was starting to become well known among the fourth year boys.

"And now I get to talk to Harry," Tracey said with a smile.

"What if one of the firsties has a crush on Harry and tries to sit between you two after she gets sorted?" Daphne asked.

"Then I will hit her with my closed fist," Tracey said. Her voice was flat and serious; she had completely missed Daphne's teasing tone.

The Slytherins were silent for a moment, until Harry burst out laughing. Daphne and Draco and Nott quickly joined him. Tracey looked around, confused.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asked.

"No," said Harry. "I just missed you this summer." Tracey was so serious about everything she did; it was refreshing after a summer full of Dudley's apathy and laziness.

"_I'm_ laughing because I keep imagining you punching out a first year," Nott said. "I hope that one of them does try to sit next to Harry."

"'Welcome to Slytherin; sit somewhere else,'" Draco said. He punched the air with his fist. "Wha-bam!"

"I still think you might be laughing at me," Tracey said.

Harry's answer was cut short by the sound of loud voices down at the other end of the Slytherin table. One of the voices was distinctly Pansy's; there was no mistaking her slightly nasal voice.

Harry turned to look and was surprised to see Ginny Weasley standing behind Pansy. Pansy had turned around in her seat and was staring at Ginny, arms folded. The Gryffindor girl was frozen in place, and her face was beginning to turn red. There was a long bit of awkward silence before Pansy spoke again.

"I said, 'What are you doing over here?' Are you dumb?"

"I came to talk to Harry," Ginny said quietly. Harry could see that her hands were beginning to tremble.

"Harry Potter?" Pansy laughed, a nasty noise. "_You_ don't speak to Harry Potter. Harry Potter speaks to _you_."

"I just… I just-"

Pansy cut her off. "'I just- I just- I just-' If that's all you have to say, don't waste our time."

"Pansy, lay off," Harry called down the table. Harry felt protective of the Gryffindor; not only was Ginny one of Hermione's close friends, but he had saved her life in second year. He certainly hadn't done it so that his friends could treat her poorly. Pansy ignored Harry, though, and continued to taunt Ginny.

"Why don't you slink back to where you belong, you stupid slag. If Harry wants to speak to you, he'll let you know."

"Pansy!" Harry's voice was sharp and commanding; Pansy turned immediately to look at him. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't mind talking to Ginny."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "You can't-"

"If I want a secretary to manage my appointments, I'll hire one," Harry said, his voice cool. "Stop acting so working class."

The Slytherin table burst into snickers. Pansy's mouth worked up and down, fish-like, but no words came out. Finally coming to her senses, she responded to Harry with the incredulity that can only be managed by the extraordinarily privileged.

"You can't talk to me like that!"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Can't I?" He stared at Pansy for a moment, then turned away, pointedly ignoring her. "Ginny, come down here."

Ginny moved slowly toward Harry, still in shock from her encounter with Pansy. Harry stared down the rest of the Slytherin table, silently daring them to say anything to Ginny. Harry's housemate's were too amused by Pansy's discomfort to make any snarky comments, however, and Ginny reached Harry without further confrontation.

Harry scooted away from Tracey, making room for Ginny to sit. Tracey frowned, but kept silent after Harry glared at her.

"Thanks," Ginny whispered as she sat down.

"Why did you come over here, anyway?" Harry asked. It was the first day of school, and inter-house tensions were high. Houses competed over sorting the first years almost as much as they competed over quidditch.

"I… wanted to talk to you," Ginny said.

"Yeah, we gathered that," said Draco.

"Take it easy," said Harry. "It took a lot of guts to come over here."

"But not a lot of smarts," said Draco, "Which is exactly why she should be sitting at the Gryffindor table instead of the Slytherin table! Salazar is probably spinning in his grave as we speak!"

Harry ignored Draco and turned back to Ginny. "What'd you want to talk to me about?"

"Quidditch."

"And it couldn't wait?" said Draco.

Harry opened his mouth, but before he could speak Ginny was snapping at Draco. "Malfoy, one more little comment and I swear to Merlin that you'll have your own bogies climbing out of your nose and smacking you in the face."

There was a long silence.

"At least she's clever," said Daphne. Ginny grinned at her, and Daphne smiled back. And with that, the ice seemed to be broken.

"I heard what you asked Ron about our quidditch captain," Ginny said. "I asked Angelina, and she told me that she hadn't been made captain this summer. So I asked Katie and Alicia, and they hadn't been named captain, either. I know it wasn't one of my brothers, which leaves…"

"Nobody," Harry said.

"Exactly. So, who's replacing Flint?"

Harry's eyebrows went up and he exchanged a glance with Draco. Draco shrugged; maybe the girl was cleverer than they gave her credit for.

"Thought so," said Ginny.

Out in the hallway, Harry could hear the booming voice of Hagrid, as he led the first year students up to the great hall.

"Better head back," Harry said. "Wouldn't want to confuse the firsties, seeing one of your lot over here with us respectable types."

"Respectable isn't the word I would use." Ginny grinned and stood. "If you find out what's going on, will you let me know?"

"Sure," Harry said. As Ginny moved to leave, Harry grabbed her arm. "Actually, Draco's dad mentioned that something big was going to be happening at Hogwarts this year. Something secret."

Ginny furrowed her brow. "My brother Percy—he works at the Ministry, you know—he was going on about being involved in something _very important_ at Hogwarts this year. Same thing?"

Harry let go of her arm shrugged.

"We'll find out eventually, I guess," said Ginny. "Bye, Harry."

"Bye."

Harry turned back to his table. His Slytherin classmates were staring at him with expressions in varying mixes of surprise, disgust, and anger.

"What the hell was that?" asked Draco.

Before Harry could answer, Hagrid burst into the Great Hall, leading the first years to their empty table. The noise that accompanied the younger students prevented any reasonable conversation, and Harry wasn't going to shout to be heard. How vulgar.

Harry didn't pay much attention to the sorting. He dutifully cheered with his classmates whenever a new student was sorted to Slytherin, and he lightly booed whenever a Gryffindor was sorted. Harry paid little attention to a list of names that, as of now, meant nothing to him—Ackerley, Stewart; Branstone, Eleanor; Quirke, Orla—and instead considered the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who was seated at the head table.

The man was older than Lupin and younger than Dumbledore, but that was as near as Harry could establish his age. He was… grizzled. The man had two eyes, but only one natural. The other eye was a bulbous blue magical construction that constantly moved in its socket, casting the man's gaze all around the room. Under the table, Harry could see that one of the man's legs had been cut off above the knee and replaced with a wooden peg. Whoever it was, he had clearly been through more than his share of duels.

The gaze of the man's magical eyeball touched Harry and came to a sudden halt. Harry met the gaze calmly; he wasn't going to allow himself to be intimidated by a new professor simply because the man looked scary. The scarred man turned his head slowly, now focusing his natural eye on Harry, as well. The pair looked at each other for several seconds, neither breaking eye contact.

"Ahem."

Harry looked away from the new professor. The sorting had finished, and Dumbledore was now standing at the head table. Traditionally, he would say a few words before dinner.

"Tuck in," Dumbledore said.

The plates on the house tables were suddenly filled with food. Harry smiled to himself, remembering his amazement at his first sorting feast. He was less impressed, now, knowing that the feast was created and transported by house elf magic. Harry grabbed a large spoonful of mashed potatoes and brought it to his plate. Harry looked down and paused.

Sitting in the center of his plate was a single round peppermint, swirled red and white.

Harry turned and looked across the hall. At the Gryffindor table, Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger were clearly having words. Hermione was waving her hands and gesturing dramatically at the food. Ginny, red hair flying, was snapping back at Hermione. Clasped in Ginny's hands was a steaming mug of what could only be hot chocolate.

Harry heard a snapping sound. He turned back and saw Draco leaning across the table, snapping his fingers.

"What is wrong with you?" Draco said.

"Nothing," Harry said, belatedly depositing the potatoes on his plate.

"Are you sure?" Draco asked. "Defending Gryffindors at the World Cup, talking to them on the train, protecting the littlest Weasley from Pansy, and then inviting her to sit at our table? Are you going crazy, Harry?"

Harry looked at his friends. Draco seemed genuinely concerned, in a "Are you aware of what you're doing to your social standing in Slytherin" sort of way. Daphne was scowling a little bit, and Theo looked as if he had swallowed something sour. Even Tracey was looking skeptically at Harry.

"Am I really acting that odd?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Tracey. "I don't like those Gryffindors coming between us."

"Sorry," Harry said.

"So what was that business with Ginny Weasley, anyway?" Theo asked.

"Pansy was being boring," Harry said. "Nobody cares about those sorts of insults."

"It was working," Draco said. "A few more seconds and Weasley would never have shown her face around you again."

"I thought it would be more interesting to lure her in and thoroughly embarrass her," Harry lied. "Bring her in, make her think that she was safe, listen to what she had to say… then loudly tell her that Pansy was right and she was wasting my time."

"But then you discovered that she had something interesting to say," Draco said. "Gryffindor doesn't have a quidditch captain, either."

"Right. And if she can keep getting me information about that, why would I embarrass her?"

"Maybe you should tell Pansy that," Theo said. "Because right now, I think she's plotting to murder you."

Harry looked down the table at Pansy. Harry had seen plenty of hateful expressions on Pansy's face; she was notorious for being one of the nastiest girls in the school. Her nastiness, however, was usually directed at other girls. This was the first time that Pansy had truly been angry at Harry, and the strength of her gaze was almost a physical shock.

"Okay, yeah," Harry said, leaning slightly away from Pansy. "I'll do that as soon as the feast is over."

The rest of the feast passed without incident. Harry spent most of the meal catching up with his friends, exchanging stories about their summers and gossiping about students in other houses. After pudding, when all the students had taken plenty of time to eat, Dumbledore again stood to address the school.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts," the headmaster said. "I am pleased to see a room full of young faces, all so eager to learn." Scattered boos and catcalls arose in the room, mostly good-natured. Dumbledore smiled gently. "To ensure that you are able to learn, I will remind the students of the following rules: the Forbidden Forest is, predictably, forbidden. Hogsmeade is off-limits to all students without permission slips, and all students who are younger than third year. Mr. Filch's list of forbidden items has been expanded to include Screaming Yo-Yos, Ever-Bashing Boomerangs, and Fanged Frisbees. If you have any interest in viewing the whole list, it is posted outside Mr. Filch's office." Dumbledore smiled slightly; neither the students nor the faculty had any interest in the list.

"Finally," Dumbledore said, "I am glad to announce the cancellation of the quidditch cup for this school year."

Shouts erupted around the room. Harry was astonished; he looked across the table, and saw a mirror image of his own expression plastered across Draco's face.

"In lieu of the quidditch cup, Hogwarts will host students from Durmstrang Institute and Beaxbatons Academy in the first Triwizard Tournament to be held in over a century. This tournament is made possible by the Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports."

Dumbledore went on to explain the tournament: a champion would be chosen from each school by an impartial judge. The champions would compete in three tasks, designed by the headmasters of the three schools. The tournament champion would win a prize of one thousand galleons.

"Alas," said Dumbledore, "Participation will not be open to all students. The tournament was originally discontinued because of its rather significant death toll. Thus, only students who have reached the age of majority shall be allowed to compete." Once again, boos and catcalls arose from the students, much more heartfelt than before. "More details will be given at a later time.

"Finally, I would like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, my old friend, Alastor Moody." Dumbledore gestured to the man with the magical eye. The portly man nodded in acknowledgement, then took a conspicuous swig from the flask he carried on his belt. Professor McGonnegall frowned disapprovingly.

"Professor Moody is a veteran auror, and has graciously agreed to come out of retirement to teach this year. Please make him feel welcome. And with that, our evening is concluded! Off to bed with the lot of you!" Dumbledore clapped his hands, and the prefects from the various houses stood to lead their students to their dormitories.

On the way back to the common room, Harry drifted away from Tracey and Draco and found Pansy in the crowd of students. Harry sidled up next to Pansy and offered her his elbow. Pansy was certainly still furious, but Harry was betting that Pansy wouldn't be able to resist; Pansy was enamored with exaggerated formality, and there was an inherent status boost if she was seen on Harry's arm. Pansy glared at Harry, but took his arm.

"I'm sorry about that business earlier," said Harry.

"You should be."

"I didn't mean for things to turn out that way," Harry said, vaguely enough to not be lying. He _hadn't _meant for things to turn out with Pansy completely infuriated.

"And what did you expect would happen? You embarrassed me in front of our entire house."

Harry told Pansy the same story he had told Draco: that he had intended to embarrass Ginny Weasley after making her feel safe. Not a word was true, of course.

"So, a social trap?" said Pansy. She was very familiar with these, both in their setting and avoidance.

"Exactly. But, amazing as it seems, I was actually interested in what Weasley had to say. I had to abandon my plan, but it was at your expense. So… sorry." Harry hung his head.

"Harry, you've grown so much since we first met." Pansy smiled and pulled him closer. "You've changed from a naïve muggle into a shrewd wizard. Seeing you take control in the Great Hall, just by using your words… it was amazing." Pansy shuddered, but not unpleasantly. "I love a man who is willing to take charge like that."

Harry looked at Pansy and smiled. Pansy stopped walking and moved slightly closer to Harry, bringing her lips close to Harry's face. Pansy's breath was warm as she whispered into Harry's ear.

"If you ever embarrass me like that again, I will make your life a living hell." Pansy brought her free hand up and patted the side of Harry's face. It wasn't hard enough to be a slap, but there was nothing gentle about the gesture.

"Okay, Pansy," Harry said, suddenly frightened of his friend.

"Good!" Pansy said brightly. She let go of Harry's arm and began to walk off at a brisk pace. "Now, let's talk about how you're going to apologize to me in front of all of Slytherin."

When Harry and Pansy arrived at Slytherin, they walked conspicuously through the common room. Pansy had once again taken Harry's arm. Both Harry and Pansy were smiling and laughing. This confused Goyle, who was eating candies next to the fireplace.

"Whoa," Goyle said as Harry and Pansy walked past. "Pansy, aren't you pissed at Harry?"

"Of course not," Pansy said loudly. "I knew Harry wasn't being serious at dinner."

"Er… he wasn't?" Goyle had stopped eating, with a chocolate frog halfway to its mouth. The frog struggled to escape Goyle's grasp, but the boy's chubby fingers held it tight.

"Of course I wasn't," Harry said, also slightly too loud. "I just wanted a chance to take the mickey out of Weasley myself. Pansy knew that."

"Next time, you have to wait your turn," Pansy said to Harry.

Goyle looked from Harry to Pansy, utterly confused. "But, Pansy, you looked so mad…"

Harry started laughing. "Goyle, you must be astoundingly thick if you think I would _actually_ treat Pansy that poorly."

As Goyle frowned and hung his head, Harry glanced around the room. He could see the faces of his fellow classmates begin to change as they realized that Pansy was no longer the unfortunate target of Harry's wit. Instead, Harry and Pansy were friends, and it was Goyle who was worthy of disdain. The shift in attitude was like a shift in the wind—completely unseen, yet clearly felt.

"Really, Goyle?" called Urquhart from across the room. "We all knew Harry wasn't being serious. Try having an ounce of cunning for once in your life."

The Slytherins in the room began to laugh at Goyle. Urquhart had chosen his moment well. The snippy little comment had certainly improved Urquhart's standing in the eyes of his classmates. Harry still thought Urquhart was a sod, of course, but even sods could be unexpectedly useful on occasion.

Harry reached forward and ruffled Goyle's hair. The large boy pulled his head away and waved a ham-fisted hand in the air, trying to shoo Harry away.

"Don't worry, Goyle," Harry said. "You'll figure it out eventually. Later tonight, just when you're about to fall asleep, it'll all make sense." Harry paused. "Probably. If not, I'll explain it again in the morning."

The common room erupted in laughter again. Pansy squeezed Harry's arm as she laughed, causing warmth to rush through Harry's body. As Harry looked around at the smiling faces of his classmates, he was struck once again by the thought that this was going to be a good year.

The best.


	5. Chapter 5

With quidditch cancelled for the year, Harry and Draco found themselves with a remarkable amount of free time on their hands. Only three days into the term and they were terrifically bored. Harry suggested that they go down to the lake with Harry's book of curses from last Christmas, and Draco jumped at the chance.

The two boys got some old quaffles and broomsticks from the quidditch shed and used them to make a vaguely human-shaped dummy near the lake. They were far enough away from the school that there were no other students around. Harry and Draco warmed up with easy spells; _expelliarmus_, cutting curse and the like.

"So, how are things between you and Pansy?" Draco asked as he fired a disarming charm at the dummy.

"We're fine," Harry said. "I apologized and we made up in public. Didn't you hear us when we came into the common room the other night?"

"Oh, I heard," Draco said cryptically. "So, everything is forgiven?"

"I guess so," Harry said. "Why? Is there something I'm missing?"

Draco fired a cutting curse at the dummy, and gouged a large piece of wood out of a broomstick. "Pansy doesn't forgive anybody for anything," Draco said. "Ever."

"That's an exaggeration if I've ever heard one," Harry said. "Move over, I want to cast a few." Draco moved aside, and Harry started casting disarming charms.

"If it's an exaggeration, it isn't much of one," Draco said. "Name one time that Pansy has forgiven somebody for something."

Harry opened his mouth, expecting an answer to come easily to mind. None was forthcoming. Harry closed his mouth and thought harder. Still, nothing.

"Huh," Harry said. "I'm sure it's happened some time."

"Pansy doesn't believe in forgiveness," Draco said. "She believes in revenge."

"Walking into the common room while holding my arm can hardly be classified as revenge," said Harry. He fired a cutting curse, and criss-crossed the mark that Draco had left on the broomstick.

"So Pansy didn't want to start a feud, that's not a surprise. You're about as popular as a Slytherin can get. You won the quidditch cup last year, you're a parselmouth, you solved the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets, your last name is Potter… Pansy would be a fool to start a fight with you right now."

Harry paused and turned away from the dummy. "So the only reason she forgave me is because it was the socially expedient thing to do?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe you," Harry said. "I think Pansy is a better person than that."

"Harry, let me tell you something," Draco said. "You're wrong. You and Pansy might not be fighting, but you're making a big mistake if you think that you've been forgiven."

Harry was becoming irritated. "Are we going to talk about Pansy all day, or are we going to cast some curses?"

"Curses it is," Draco said. He picked up the book and began to leaf through the pages. "Some of these are so boring. Leg locker? Body freezing curse? I've been casting those since second year." This was true; at one point, Draco had leg-locked Neville Longbottom just outside the greenhouses after Herbology. Longbottom's cries for help had gone unheard, and he had been forced to hop back to Gryffindor tower. "Where's the good stuff?"

"Look closer to the back," Harry suggested. "Things get more interesting." Harry hadn't found much time to read over the summer, but he knew that much.

While Draco rapidly flipped forward in the book of curses, Harry began practicing _incendio_ on the manikin. Harry had become quite skilled with the flamethrower curse last year; he could use it to create flames small enough to light a candle, fireballs of various sizes, and even jets of pure flame. Harry followed each _incendio_ with a quick _aguamenti_ to extinguish the flames, as they had only brought one dummy down to the lake.

"Got one," Draco said. "Bludgeoning curse. Sounds perfect."

Harry agreed with Draco's assessment; a bludgeoning curse sounded useful. Learning new spells was always a balancing act. A curse like _incendio _was impressive, but unusable against one's fellow students. A leg locker curse was useful for pranks, but the effect was perfectly boring. A bludgeoning hex, however, would be useful if one was accosted by a group of older Gryffindors; handy in a duel, but it wouldn't damage the target any more than a bludger would in quidditch.

Draco stood and pointed his wand at the dummy. "_Rhopalicus!_" A blue light flew from Draco's wand. There was a loud "whumph" as the curse struck the dummy's side, leaving a spherical depression in the old quaffle.

"Cool," Draco said. He repeated the curse several more times, blasting different parts of the dummy. Harry, meanwhile, flipped through the back of the book, looking for some of the curses that he had noticed earlier in the summer; the lightning bolt curse seemed particularly impressive.

When Draco bored of the bludgeoning curse, Harry gave the lightning bolt curse a try. Harry was able to muster a few flashes of light, but nothing that could reasonably be called lightning.

"At least you made your hair stand on end," said Draco.

Harry ran a hand through his hair and discovered that it was rather unruly. This had nothing to do with the curse; it was simply Harry's hair. Draco was taking the mickey.

"If you're so good, why don't you do it?" Harry said.

Draco shook his head. "I know when a curse is too much for me to cast properly. Budge over, I have another one I want to try." Harry moved aside, and Draco aimed his wand at the dummy. "_Adflicto affligio!_"

With a sharp crack, the broomstick forming the dummy's body snapped in half. The dummy toppled sideways.

"Awesome," said Harry. "What was that?"

"Bone-breaking curse." Draco walked over to the dummy and cast a quick _reparo_, restoring the dummy to its former state.

Harry had wanted to try a few other curses and hexes, but they wouldn't be effective on the dummy. The conjunctivitis curse, for example, seemed like it would be dead useful—if your enemy couldn't see, then they couldn't attack. But nothing on the dummy would indicate whether Harry's conjunctivitis curse had succeeded or failed. He had to stick with curses that had visual effects.

"My turn," Harry said. Draco stepped aside. "_Glacius_."

Harry's wand emitted a cool, white-blue light. When the spell struck the dummy, a coating of frost appeared, quickly spreading across the dummy's chest, arms and head.

"Freezing curse?" Draco asked.

"If I can only make light with a lightning curse, I can at least make frost with a freezing curse." Harry smiled wickedly. "And the next time Finnegan is about to blow his top, I'll have something to cool him off."

Harry paused. He could hear the distant chiming of a clock, coming from far across the Hogwarts grounds.

"Dinner," Draco said. "Let's pack this up and eat."

Draco went take down the dummy while Harry put the book of curses into his school bag. As he closed his bag, Harry saw a flicker of motion on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He looked up immediately and caught a glimpse of…

…Professor Moody? What was he doing in the Forbidden Forest? And why was he spying on Harry and Draco?

"Harry! Let's go! Crabbe and Goyle will eat everything if we don't hurry."

Harry looked back at Draco, then back at the forest. Moody, if he had ever been there, was gone. The forest was perfectly still, and there was no indication that what Harry had seen had been anything other than an illusion.

"Fine," Harry said, turning back to Draco. "But I don't think even Crabbe and Goyle could eat _everything_."

"You underestimate Crabbe," Draco said. "You always do."

Harry laughed, and the two friends began to walk back to the castle. If Moody really had been in the forest, he was probably there on his own business. Thinking that Moody would be so concerned with Harry was just paranoid.

*!*!*!*

At the end of first week, Harry had his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Harry, as always, had been looking forward to Defense. Last year, Defense had become his best class, exceeding his strong work in both Potions and Charms. Harry figured it was probably because of his extra work with Lupin last year.

The entire school was abuzz with talk of Moody's class. There was a rumor that Moody had used unforgiveable curses in his class with the Gryffindors on Thursday, but Harry was certain that it was just gossip. Far more likely was the rumor that Moody had challenged the fifth year students to a duel in class. Regardless of the specific truth of the rumors, one thing was certain: class with Moody would be exciting.

Draco was not quite as enthusiastic. "Moody got the nickname 'Mad-Eye' for more than his injury," Draco had told Harry. "Moody's bonkers. Used to be an auror, but now he spends his time jumping at shadows. He thinks he sees dark wizards everywhere, but he hasn't made a big arrest in years. Forced into retirement, you know."

As much as Harry liked Draco, Harry had learned to take his friend's opinions with a grain of salt. Draco could be rather closed-minded. Harry would reserve judgment on Moody for himself.

When Harry arrived for Defense, Draco was already sitting in the back of the room next to Pansy. The two were whispering to one another and sniggering. The last of the three seats at the table was empty, and Harry quickly sat down next to Draco.

As soon as he was seated, Harry glanced around the room, looking for Moody. The professor was not to be seen. At the front of the room, however, Tracey was sitting next to a pair of empty chairs. Harry wondered where Daphne was, and saw that she was sitting between Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode.

Tracey turned around, looking toward the back of the classroom. When she saw Harry seated next to Draco and Pansy, her face fell. Harry gave her a wan smile. Tracey raised her hand slightly and wiggled her fingers in the smallest of waves.

Other than Harry, Tracey's only real friend was Daphne; without Daphne, it looked as if Tracey would be sitting alone. And if Moody turned out to be the type of professor who assigned seats on the first day, Tracey would be alone for the entire term. It would be disastrous for Tracey's already tenuous social standing.

Harry could move up to the front, with Tracey, but seats at the back of the room were coveted for a reason: it was easier to slack off, and you were far less likely to be called upon unexpectedly. Plus, if Harry got up and moved, Draco and Pansy might take it as a slight against them.

Before Harry could make a decision, Theo Nott rushed into the classroom. Nott was a rabbity looking boy, and the resemblance became even more dramatic when he was in a hurry. Nott appeared to have gone through a growth spurt over the summer. He was no longer the lanky boy that Harry had met during first year; his arms and chest had become bulkier over the summer.

Nott sat down next to Tracey without any hesitation. Harry found this odd; Tracey and Nott were notorious for bickering with one another.

The reason for Nott's rush became apparent when the door at the back of the classroom burst open. The class fell silent as Moody stormed to the front of the room, glowering at the students as he passed. At the speed he was moving, his limp was dramatically pronounced. His magically eye whirled in its socket, scanning the room incessantly.

"Books away," Moody snapped. "You won't need them today." As the students tucked their books away, Moody began to pace at the front of the room, false leg clunking arrhythmicly against the floor. "Your first three years of Defense class were a fiasco. First year was minor jinxes and hexes. Third year was a comprehensive look at dark and magical creatures. Second year, if you had any sense, you learned the difference between a fraudulent buffoon and an actual educator."

Harry smiled—Moody had the right of it. And Harry already loved Moody's no-nonsense style of communication. He reminded Harry of an army drill sergeant. If the whole class was like this, Harry would learn loads. Harry appeared to be in the minority, however. Draco was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. Pansy was staring up at the ceiling, twirling her hair around her finger. In fact, most of the class seemed to be tuning Moody out.

"What are you missing?" Moody asked. "What is the egregious gap in your Defense education?" Moody looked around the room, then jabbed a finger at Millicent. "You! What's the biggest problem in your Defense education?"

"Er…" Bulstrode's eyes were huge. She looked like a frightened animal.

"CURSES! And I'm not talking about bad words that earn you a spanking from your mother! I mean real curses, the spells that dark wizards don't hesitate to use. When you're facing a dark wizard, do you think he'll use a jelly-legs jinx on you? A tickling charm?"

Bulstrode shook her head.

"You're darned right he won't! A dark wizard will curse you, and he will do it without hesitation or remorse! My job is to teach you to survive with most your limbs." Moody faced the class. "Look to your left! Look to your right!"

Harry knew how this worked. Some percentage of wizards would do something, and Moody was trying to shock them with the statistic. On Harry's right, Draco was doodling on a piece of parchment. Harry looked to his left, across the aisle, and saw Goyle picking his nose.

Moody continued. "Fifty percent of wizards will die at the hands of a dark wizard! You just looked at two people. One of them will die because of a dark wizard."

"That can't be true!" Draco blurted.

"Correct! But the reason it isn't is because of people like me!" Moody snapped. "What's your name, boy?"

"Draco Malfoy."

Moody smiled. Somehow, his face got uglier. "Your father and I go way back, Malfoy. Having you in my class will be a pleasure. And I assure you, the pleasure will be all mine."

Draco rolled his eyes. Moody raised his voice and again addressed the class.

"Dumbledore brought me out of retirement to give you a crash-course in advanced curses. Usually you wouldn't learn this until sixth year, but Dumbledore thinks it's necessary now. I agree. By the end of the year, I'll have the whole lot of you whipped into shape." Moody paused. "What curses do you know already?"

There was silence. Nobody wanted to draw Moody's attention.

"Come on, now. This isn't a room full of Gryffindors. I'd bet that you lot know more curses than the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fourth-years combined." Moody looked out over the class expectantly, but nobody made a move. His eyes settled briefly on Harry, just long enough for Harry to grow uncomfortable under his gaze.

"You!" Moody was pointing at Theo Nott. "You're walking down the street. You see another wizard approaching. What do you do?"

"Er… I keep walking."

"The wizard casts a bludgeoning curse at your head. Your skull cracks open and your brains leak out onto the sidewalk. What could you have done to prevent this?"

"Dodged?" Nott seemed extremely confused.

"Wrong." Moody looked at the back of the room and made eye contact with Harry. "Your turn, Potter. You are walking down the street and you see another wizard approaching. What do you do?"

"I freeze him with a full-body bind."

"Great. You've just assaulted the Minister of Magic. Aurors arrest you and you spend the next five to twenty years in Azkaban." Moody turned to Daphne Greengrass. "Your turn. You're walking down the street and you see another wizard approaching. What do you do?"

"I try to figure out if it's a dark wizard," Daphne says.

"Better," says Moody. "How do you do that?"

"Well…"

"Too late. You hesitate and the wizard cuts off your head. He leaves the pieces of your body in the gutter. Rats eat your eyes."

Daphne's face went white.

"What are you doing wrong?" Moody waited for several seconds, but the class was silent. Finally, muttering to himself, Moody clomped up to his desk at the front of the classroom. He began inspecting a calendar, then looked at the classroom's clock. "First Friday of the term, one twenty-five p.m. Eleven students wearing green and silver. You are Slytherin fourth years, correct? You're supposed to be clever! Figure it out! Why are all your classmates either dead or in prison?"

The class remained silent. Moody made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat, then pointed at Nott.

"You aren't dead because you were hit with a curse. You're dead because you were _unprepared_. You're dead because you assumed that nothing would happen." Moody turned and pointed at Harry. "You, Potter, are in Azkaban because you got overeager. You attacked first. This class is about DEFENSE." Moody turned to Daphne. "You did the best, but you're still dead. You spent too much time analyzing, and not enough time watching. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody slammed his hands down on his desk. The class jumped at the roar of his voice, even Draco.

"Constant vigilance is the only thing that will protect you," Moody said. Moody looked around the class, then settled his eyes on Harry. "Here's a chance to redeem yourself, Potter. What does a dark wizard look like?"

Harry was still upset by Moody's first unfair hypothetical. Being singled out again only upset him further; Harry answered flippantly. "Black robes over black clothes. White masks, shaped like skulls. Tall, black hats to conceal their hair. Tattoos on their arms, probably a skull with a snake for a tongue."

"Heh. A perfect description of a Death Eater at a World Cup riot. Or maybe a Death Eater kneeling in front of his master. But what does a dark wizard look like on Tuesday afternoon at 12:30, when he's on his lunch break? What does a dark wizard look like when he's at the park, playing with his children?"

"He looks like every other wizard!" Harry said, completely losing his patience.

"You're darn right he does!" Moody put his arms up in the air. "One of you gets it, at least! Dark wizards don't go around wearing their Death Eater uniforms! They don't warn you before they attack! The only thing that will protect you is CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody's voice roared again, but only Goyle jumped with surprise. The rest of the class was already anticipating Moody's use of the catchphrase.

"So, how can you identify a dark wizard? Or, to put it another way, what makes dark wizards different from every other wizard?"

Again, there was no response. Moody had thoroughly beaten the class into submission. Or silent defiance. The result was the same: nobody was going to stick their neck out and answer.

"Potter, what do you think? Is the answer too obvious?"

Harry rolled his eyes. His initial enthusiasm at Moody's teaching style had completely fled. "Dark wizards use dark magic."

"Absolutely correct. This next question is more difficult, and don't you dare give me any circular logic for an answer. Question: what is dark magic? What puts the darkness in dark magic?" Moody paused. "Potter, if you answer this correctly, you're excused from class for the remainder of the week."

Harry opened his mouth, but wasn't sure of the answer. He had never really thought about it. He just knew that dark magic was… well… dark.

Harry shrugged. "Too late. I hesitate. A dark wizard uses a curse to turn me inside out. I bleed to death on the floor, staining your classroom's carpet forever."

Moody smiled, this time with genuine amusement. "Five points to Slytherin. Give it a try, though."

"Dark magic is evil?"

Moody shook his head. "First part of today's lesson: characteristics of dark magic. Quills out. Prepare to take notes." Moody waved his wand and piece of chalk rose off the ledge of the blackboard. The chalk wrote the words "Dark Magic" in large, block letters at the top of the board.

"The characteristics of dark magic are reasonably well known. One: dark magic feels good." As Moody spoke, the chalk scratched at the blackboard. The class began copying the notes. "Two: dark magic is addictive. These elements combined mean that, three: use of dark magic leads to further use of dark magic. Four: dark magic is fueled, not by logic, but by emotions, especially negative emotions like rage, fear, hate and disgust. Five: use of dark magic inhibits your ability to make moral decisions. And six: use of dark magic destroys your soul."

Moody paused and looked at the class. The room was silent except for the sounds of quills scratching on parchment.

"Got all that down?" Moody asked. There was no response. "Good. The next thing you need to know is that everything on the board is FALSE. These are all MYTHS!" The floating chalk moved to the top of the blackboard and wrote the word 'MYTHS' under the words 'Dark Magic.'

"None of that is true," Moody said. "Codswallop like this is perpetuated by fearful and superstitious wizards who need to lie to themselves in order to sleep at night. In reality, dark magic is nothing special. Casting a dark spell will feel no different from casting any normal charm." Moody looked around the room. "Greengrass! How do you know that the wizard who cut off your head is a dark wizard?"

"Because he cut off my head."

"Correct! What spell did he use?"

"I don't know. _Diffindo_, maybe?"

"Good choice! _Diffindo_ is the cutting charm, or cutting curse." Moody paused. "How many of you were taught _diffindo_, either at school or at home?"

Everybody raised their hand. Moody drew back, feigning shock.

"Oh, no! Why have your parents taught you such dark magic?"

"It's not dark, though," Tracey said. "My mom uses it all the time for sewing. She used it when we made crafts when I was a child."

Moody smiled slightly. "But Daphne was killed by a dark wizard who used _diffindo_. It's dark magic!"

"It's not," Tracey said.

"I assure you, Davis, it is. Does anybody know why?"

Daphne, whose head had been bowed in thought, looked up suddenly. "It's because the wizard used it to kill me."

"EXACTLY!" Moody slammed his fist down on his desk. "Dark magic isn't inherently dark. Magic is light or dark based upon how it is used. _Diffindo_ can cut cloth, or it can cut off your head. _Incendio _can light a campfire, or it can burn you alive. It isn't about the spell, kiddies. It's how you use it." Moody clasped his hands behind his back. "Despite the name of this class, the 'dark arts' do not exist. Spells are no more light or dark than what a wizard does with them."

Draco's hand shot up. "What about the Unforgivables, then?"

"Malfoy. You would be the one who asked about that," Moody said, sneering. "Let's talk about Unforgiveables. _Imperio_,_ Crucio_, and _Avada Kedavra_. Use of any of these curses upon another person is a one-way ticket to a life sentence in Azkaban.

"The Imperius Curse will allow you to completely overcome the will of another person and replace it with your own. Mind control. The Cruciatus Curse creates the sensation of unbearable pain within the victim's mind, but inflicts no actual physical harm upon the body. _Avada Kedavra_ is commonly known as the killing curse. It's a powerful piece of magic. It cannot be blocked by a shield. There is no known countercurse. If you are struck with a killing curse, you are dead… unless you are Harry Potter."

Moody glanced around the room. "Why is the punishment for these curses so severe? If anybody says, 'because they're dark magic,' I will dock you ten house points."

After a long silence, Daphne raised her hand. "Is it because there's no good use for them?"

"YES! If a spell is considered dark or light based upon its use, then a spell with no good use is inherently dark." Moody scowled at the rest of the class. "Apparently, Greengrass here is the only one in the room with any sort of moral compass. Not surprising, really, but I expected the rest of you would be better at faking it."

Next to Harry, Draco was shaking his head and frowning.

"This is so stupid," Draco whispered under his breath.

"Don't like what you're hearing, Malfoy?" Moody said. "Your daddy is mighty familiar with some of these curses, from what I've heard."

Draco's frown deepened, but he didn't rise to Moody's bait.

"Maybe you think that these curses shouldn't be unforgiveable? Or maybe you think that dark magic isn't really all that dark?" Moody smiled cruelly. "Come on, boy. Don't you have anything to say?"

"There are uses for the Unforgiveables," Draco said, unable to maintain his silence any longer.

"Like what?" asked Moody. "Let's hear it, Malfoy. Give me a good reason to use an Unforgivable Curse on another human being."

Draco folded his arms and looked down at his desk.

"You're about to lose house points for ignoring a teacher, boy. I'd better hear some sort of answer, and I'd better hear it fast."

Draco remained silent.

"Five points from Slytherin. You've just undone all of Potter's good work from earlier. Does anybody else care to try? Anybody? Or am I supposed to believe that, in a room full of Slytherins, not a single person has gotten a head start on dark magic?"

Harry was sick of this. Moody clearly had some sort of vendetta against Slytherins in general, and Draco in particular. Harry wasn't going to let him relentlessly badger Draco without any sort of defiance.

"I'll give you an example," Harry said.

Moody slowly raised an eyebrow. "If there's one voice I didn't expect to hear, it was yours, Potter."

Harry ignored Moody's taunt. "Let's say somebody puts a bomb on the Knight Bus. You catch the bomber, but he won't tell you how to stop it. He knows that you can't _actually _kill him, because then you'd never know how to stop the bomb. But you need the answer before the bus blows up. _Crucio_. After a few minutes, he tells you how to save a bus full of people."

"And if you have the wrong person?"

"If there's any question, then you don't use the curse. But it's my hypothetical. We've got the right guy." Harry felt confident.

"Why not use _diffindo_? Cut off his toes, one by one, until he talks? Then start on the fingers of his wand hand? Don't you think that would be effective?"

"Sure, but there's a danger of him bleeding to death, or fainting."

Moody nodded. "So you use _crucio_. What if he still won't tell?"

"Then you use it again until he will."

"So you _crucio_ him until he's insane. Now he can't give you the answer, the bus blows up anyway, and your bomber is too crazy to stand trial. He becomes a ward of the state at St. Mungo's, where our taxes pay for a mass murderer to be fed and kept in relative comfort until the day he dies."

Harry frowned. "It's still a good use for the curse, which was what you wanted to hear."

"So you think that _crucio_ shouldn't be Unforgiveable?"  
Harry could sense that there was a trap, but he wasn't sure where it was. He didn't have time to think it through, though. "Correct. Its use should be highly regulated, and improper use should be severely punished, but there's no need to make it Unforgiveable."

"Neville Longbottom might disagree with you. I'll let you take it up with him, though."

"I still gave you a good use for _crucio_,though." Harry said, forging past Moody's non-sequitur.

"No, you didn't," Moody said. "I asked you to come up with any legitimate use for _crucio_, and the only use you could think of was torture. That's because torture is the ONLY use for _cruicio_. That, Potter, is why the Cruciatus is classified as Unforgiveable. We live in a society of law and order. Torture cannot be condoned. Regardless of the goal, torturing another human being is unforgiveable." Moody paused. "Want to try again?"

Dammit. Harry could see that Moody was right about _crucio_, but Harry couldn't abandon the point. "_Imperio_, then. You put a Death Eater under the Imperius Curse and infiltrate the criminal organization. You take it apart from within, preventing hundreds of crimes and saving lives."

"And if the person isn't a Death Eater? You send Tim the Innkeeper to speak to Lord Voldemort, and he's immediately killed."

"I get your point, we have to be sure that we're right. But if we know that Tim the Innkeeper is a Death Eater, my point is valid."

"So you infiltrate the Death Eaters by placing Tim the Innkeeper under the Imperius Curse. But now you have to keep your cover. How many crimes will commit in order to preserve your ruse? Why shouldn't you be punished for those crimes?"

"They would have been committed anyway."

"But it's your choice to commit them."

"Then I'll order Tim the Innkeeper to stay in the background. Let other Death Eaters do the dirty work."

"Potter, I'm going to start naming crimes." Moody ticked off the crimes on his fingers as he named them. "Blackmail. Slavery. Kidnapping. Rape. What do these crimes have in common?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. It was happening again. "They force somebody to do something that they don't want to do," Harry said reluctantly. Somehow Moody was taking a perfectly good example and twisting it into something else.

"Exactly. They're crimes of compulsion. Free will isn't optional in British society; free will is a necessity. You have heard of the Magna Carta, correct? Overbearing another person's free will is the most serious type of crime. _Imperio_ is all the crimes I listed, combined into one."

Harry was getting desperate. "It would save dozens of lives. Both my hypotheticals would."

"Oh, so you'd do it for the greater good?" Moody's voice grew quiet. "Better wizards than you have gone down that path, Potter, and better wizards than you have gone dark because of it. You're on the edge of a slippery slope. Take care that you don't go over it."  
Harry glared at Moody, but said nothing.

"There's only one other Unforgiveable left," Moody said quietly. The contrast with his normally booming voice was dramatic. "Do you want to have a go at it? _Avada Kedavra_. Come on, Potter. Do you want to argue in favor of the Killing Curse?"

Harry gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists. Moody knew what curse killed his parents. He was taunting Harry.

"Don't you want to argue in favor of the curse that gave you that scar? I'll even tell you what the argument is. Tell me that the _Avada Kedavra_ is a quick, painless death. Tell me that it should be used for executions. Tell me that it's humane." Moody paused. "Of course, the counterargument is that we don't actually know how quick or painless the _Avada Kedavra_ is, because nobody who is struck with the curse can live to tell about it."

Moody strode over to Harry's desk and placed his hands upon it. He leaned forward, looming directly over Harry. Harry looked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge Moody's presence.

"But today is a special day," Moody said. "Harry Potter is right here. The only person to survive after being struck by the killing curse. Why don't you tell us how it felt? We can settle the debate, once and for all. Did it hurt? Did you feel anything at all?"

Harry's head was starting to ache from grinding his teeth together. He could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. A cold sweat had broken across his brow.

"Let him alone!" Tracey shouted from the front of the room.

Moody ignored her. "Perhaps another time, Potter." He laughed once, a gruff sound, then clomped toward the front of the room. "Next class period, we will have practical demonstrations of the Unforgiveable Curses."

"I thought you just said that they were useless," Draco snapped.

"I said that there was no good reason to use them," Moody said. "But I don't expect you to use them. I expect you to recognize them, to fear them, and, if possible… I expect you to fight them. The next class is not for the faint of heart. Come prepared. Until then, you are dismissed."

Harry rammed his quill and parchment into his bag and stormed out of the room. Draco and Pansy were close behind. Tracey had to run to catch up with Harry, and Nott was right next to her.

Pansy reached over and rubber her hand up and down Harry's upper arm. "Don't let him get to you."

"He's an old fool," Draco said.

Harry could only nod in agreement. He was so furious that he couldn't even speak.

"You have to be more careful, Harry," Nott said. "You can't go around doing things like that."

"Harry was right," Tracey said, disagreeing with Nott. "If you could save lives by using _crucio_ or _imperio_, then it would be criminal if you didn't!"

"That's not what I meant," said Nott. "I agree with Harry, one hundred percent. There are uses for those curses. But you can't _advertise _it. Not as a Slytherin. Not publically. And especially not to Mad-Eye Moody!"

Harry glanced back at his friends. Every one of them was nodding.

"Sorry," Harry said with a sigh. "I just… couldn't let him keep attacking us. It's like he's got some sort of vendetta against all of Slytherin."

"He does," Draco said. "He's convinced that all our parents are all dark wizards—except for yours, of course. He's sure that we'll go dark immediately upon graduation."

"Or sooner," Pansy said.

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "This class is going to be a nightmare."

"I don't think we know the half of it," Draco said ominously.

* * *

**A/N:** _The comments after last chapter raised a great point: why was Pansy forgiving Harry so quickly? I had my own theory, but I hadn't made it clear enough for the reader. Thus, I took some time to make it explicit at the beginning of this chapter. (And thereby made a long chapter even longer!)_

_Pansy did, in fact, forgive Harry too quickly. Why? Because she gets more social power by being Harry's friend than she would by being Harry's enemy. Harry is simply too popular to oppose at this point, and Pansy is not interested in social suicide. So, rather than starting a fight that she knows she will lose, Pansy manipulates Harry into a very public reconciliation, thereby restoring her place in the social hierarchy._


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** _Wow, so last week's chapter is probably the single most reviewed chapter I have ever posted. Many thanks to CosmosGravitation and Teufel1987 for their thoughtful (and lengthy) reviews, which have certainly aided in my understanding of the Unforgiveable Curses._

* * *

Draco was right; Harry's next Defense Against the Dark Arts was twice as bad as Harry had expected. During the next class period, when Moody was demonstrating the Imperius curse, he took inordinate delight in making the Slytherin students perform foolish acts. His instructions on the subject of resisting the Imperius curse were brief and entirely unhelpful.

"Let's see if you can resist!" Moody said.

"How?" asked Harry.

"You tell me," Moody said. And then they began.

Moody forced Goyle to tap dance atop the table he shared with Crabbe. Theo Nott did an impression of a teapot, complete with song and representative movements. Draco strutted around the room, hands held at the small of his back and elbows sticking out from his sides, bobbing his head and clucking like a chicken. Pansy burped the alphabet. Blaise imagined himself as a bogey, narrating his entire life, from his birth inside a nose to his explosive demise in a handkerchief. It wouldn't have been so bad, except for the sound effects.

Moody worked his way through the class, embarrassing them one by one. Harry was glad that Defense was a Slytherin-only class period. If this display happened in front of another house, the Slytherins would be too shamed to go on living.

Finally, after every one of his classmates had been thoroughly embarrassed, it was Harry's turn. Harry had known that Moody was saving him for last. Saving something special to fix in the minds of all the Slytherin students.

"Get up to the front of the class, Potter." Moody was standing at the back of the classroom, smirking.

Harry stood and walked to the front of the classroom. His classmates had failed to resist Moody's curse. There was no shame if Harry couldn't, either. They would all bear it, together, and then they would never speak of this day ever again.

As Harry turned to face Moody, all his thoughts of resignation fled. Harry would never surrender to a bully like Moody.

"_Imperio!_"

And suddenly Moody was gone. Harry's classmates were gone. Harry was standing alone in the classroom, which was suddenly covered in a faint fog. But it didn't seem strange that there was fog, and it didn't seem strange when Harry's parents stepped out of the mist.

"Hello, Harry," said James.

"It's good to see you," said Lily.

Harry smiled. It was good to see his parents. Very good. But he had something to tell them, didn't he? Something about his robes…

Harry looked down. His robes were green and silver. That's what it was. He was in Slytherin. His parents had been in Gryffindor. He needed to apologize. He needed to tell them that he was sorry for disappointing them by being sorted into Slytherin. He needed to tell them that he knew he was an embarrassment. That he had been ashamed of his house since the day he was sorted. He needed to tell them. He had to tell them. He was compelled…

Harry shook his head. He suddenly had a splitting headache. Why would he tell his parents that? There were other things to talk about. Important things, like Sirius, and the invisibility cloak, and how his mother knew Snape…

The fog seemed to grow thicker. There were important things to tell. Important things, like how awful it was being in Slytherin. Important things, like how awful it was to listen to Draco Malfoy's drawling voice every day. Important things, like how hard it was to pretend to be friends with the children of Death Eaters. Important things… things that needed to be said… things that needed to be said RIGHT NOW!

Harry grunted, biting back words. NO. That wasn't how he felt. That was wrong. He wasn't ashamed of his house or his friends. Harry clenched his hands together. He didn't have to say those things at all.

The fog, once again, grew thicker. SAY IT.

NO! Harry vision was suddenly pulsing with green light. The more Harry focused on the light, the less he felt compelled to speak. As the light pulsed faster and faster, the fog seemed to dissipate, and the room came into focus. It was as if a dirty, oily film was covering everything, including his parents. He just needed to tear it away…

Harry reached out and grabbed at the film. It caught in his fingers, and he yanked it down… there was a final burst of green light…

And Harry was suddenly on his hands and knees, gasping for air. The room was completely silent except for the sound of Harry's heaving breaths.

"I'm impressed, Potter," Moody said. He didn't sound impressed at all. He sounded furious. "Of all the people I thought might show some backbone, I never expected you."

"Bugger off," Harry said.

"Fifty points from Slytherin," Moody said calmly. "Care to try again?"

"You'll never make me say those things," Harry said. His breathing had slowed, and he was able to bring himself to his feet. "No matter how many times you try."

"Are you sure?" Moody asked.

"Yes," Harry said. Harry forced certainty into his voice, greater certainty than he felt in his heart.

"Then let's try again."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Harry finally had his balance back, enough that he felt comfortable folding his arms. "Let's go again."

"_Imperio!_"

Fog enveloped the room, and Harry's classmates disappeared. Instead, bludgers hovered above every chair in the room, just waiting to be struck. Moody still stood at the back of the room, smirking his nasty little smirk.

Atop the nearest desk was a beater's bat. Harry just needed to walk over and pick it up. It would be so easy to send a bludger flying at Moody's fat little head. There were more than enough bludgers available. And it would stop that smirk. That condescending, stupid, nasty little smirk. All he needed to do was pick up the bat and take a swing.

Harry picked up the bat. He wound up and swung at the nearest bludger. He felt the bat strike, but the bat bent in half. The bludger didn't move.

Harry moved to the next bludger. Wound up. Swung. Again, he struck the bludger square in the center, but again the bat bent in half, and again the bludger refused to move.

Harry began to run from bludger to bludger. Moody was jinxing them, obviously. Harry just had to move quickly enough. Eventually he'd find a bludger that Moody had forgotten, and then Moody would be sorry.

Harry ran until he was out of breath. He had tried every bludger at least once, some twice, and some three times. None of them would move. Maybe Moody had jinxed the bat. Harry finally turned to Moody, who was still standing and smirking at the back of the classroom. If Harry couldn't hit a bludger, then he'd at least throw the bat at Moody's stupid head. Harry reared back, and…

"_Finite._"

Harry paused. His classmates had reappeared in the classroom. The fog was gone.

"Are you going to throw that essay at me?" Moody asked.

Harry looked into his hand. He was holding a roll of parchment, not a beater's bat. Which explained why his "bat" had repeatedly bent in half when it struck the bludgers.

The bludgers…

Harry looked back at his classmates. There was a red mark on every one of their faces, and sometimes more than one. Crabbe was rubbing his head, where Harry had apparently struck him three times with the parchment. Theo and Blaise had red marks on their cheeks. Draco had a red mark across his mouth.

"Are you quite finished, Potter?" Moody asked.

Harry glared at Moody hatefully. "I don't know," Harry said. "Am I?"

"No, you aren't," Moody said. "First off, ten points to Slytherin for throwing off the Imperius cursethe first time. You can earn even more points if you tell me what the difference was between the first go around and the second."

"You were trying harder," Harry said.

Moody shook his head. "Guess again."

Harry knew the answer. Harry had known before he gave his first response. He didn't want to say it, though. He didn't want to answer correctly and give Moody any kind of satisfaction. What Moody was doing wasn't teaching; it was humiliation.

"I said, GUESS AGAIN!" Moody thundered. "What was the difference?"

"The second time… you gave me something that I wanted to do." If Harry was going to be forced to answer, he was going to make it worth it. "I wanted to hit a bludger at your dumb face and knock that magic eye right out of your skull."

"Correct," Moody said. "The Imperius curse is more effective when the victim is ordered to perform an action that the victim already wishes to perform. Even if the victim would never actually perform that action, the mere desire to do so makes the Imperius curse significantly more effective. Why?"

"If I want to defend myself, first I have to realize that I'm being cursed," Harry said. Moody obviously hadn't taken any offense to Harry's previous comments, and Harry didn't have the energy to try again. "If I'm doing what I want to do, I won't get suspicious. I'll never realize that there is something to fight against."

"Correct again. Have another ten points for Slytherin, and take a seat. You're done for the day."

As Harry walked back to his seat, Tracey gave him a glance and a sympathetic grimace. The rest of the class refused to meet his eyes. When Harry sat between Draco and Pansy, Pansy reached over and lightly patted his leg. Draco slipped Harry a piece of parchment with some writing on it.

_Moody will get his._

Harry vowed silently to make sure Draco's prediction came true.

*!*!*!*

As Halloween approached, nervous energy began to build among the Hogwarts student body. Dumbledore had announced that, on October 30th, the representatives from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would arrive prior to dinner. During classes, students were driven almost completely to distraction. The only class in which Harry learned anything useful was Ancient Runes.

Harry had discovered, to his surprise, that he quite enjoyed Ancient Runes. Professor Babbling, the Ancient Runes teacher, was a short, unthreatening woman, with a smooth face and deliberate demeanor. She started the semester with an intensive review of the previous year's subject matter. Harry had been simultaneously grateful and worried. Grateful because, despite the intensity of his summer work, it had been no substitute for classroom learning. Worried, because his summer work had been primarily memorization of various runes and rune formations, and a class that continued in the same vein would be dreadfully boring.

After a week of review, however, Professor Babbling began to focus significantly on magical theory during her lectures. Yes, the memorization of runes was still required, but Professor Babbling was incredibly thorough in demonstrating the etymology of the various runes, and how some of the runes developed into modern spells.

Harry was fascinated. Dumbledore had told him that taking Ancient Runes would allow Harry to begin creating spells, but Harry hadn't known how, and mere memorization hadn't helped him in any easily observable way. During discussions of magical theory, however, Harry could catch glimpses of how and why the class would help in spellcrafting.

During Runes, Harry sat next to Hermione. The only other Slytherin in the class was Millicent Bulstrode, with whom Harry was not well acquainted. The rest of the class was composed mostly of Ravenclaws, although Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot from Hufflepuff were also enrolled.

On October 30th, when Professor Babbling arrived in the classroom, the students were excitedly chatting about the impending arrival of the contingents from the other schools. Even Hermione had been drawn into speculation. "I'm so excited to meet the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang," she told Harry. "It's a fantastic opportunity to catch a glimpse of foreign magical education. I've been wondering whether non-English speaking countries use the same incantations to cast spells, or if different languages require different incantations."

Professor Babbling had reached the front of the room, and called for the class's attention. "Books away, please."

Only Hermione moved—she was the only student with a book out, but even Hermione's book hadn't been opened.

"Thank you," said Professor Babbling. "Ms. Granger has raised an interesting question, which I plan on twisting to fit my own purposes. She wondered if a wizard who does not speak English uses the same incantations that are taught in Hogwarts. The answer, unsatisfyingly, is 'sometimes.' Some incantations are the same, regardless of the language spoken by the wizard. Other spells vary from language to language, sometimes in small ways, and other times greatly."

Professor Babbling walked to her desk and sat on the edge. She seemed more relaxed than usual, and she was always one of the more relaxed teachers at Hogwarts.

"I'm finding it difficult to focus on class, today," said Professor Babbling. "I had planned a lesson based on the rune for 'sand' and its variations, but that lesson seems boring. Don't you agree? It's okay to say yes."

Heads nodded around the room.

"In that case, sand will have to wait. The great thing about sand is that it isn't going anywhere. It will still be around for next class." Professor Babbling grinned. "I feel obligated to provide you with some sort of education, however. Today's lesson will be quick and casual, and then we can proceed directly to gossip and rampant speculation about our soon-to-be guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang."

Professor Babbling walked behind her desk and sat down in her chair. She propped her feet up on the desk, exposing a pair of aqua colored socks with orange polka dots. "I have always been intrigued by the fundamental questions of magic, and I think that we at Hogwarts neglect their exploration. So, let's talk about that. Here's a question that I asked you on the first day of class: why do we study ancient runes?"

Hermione raised her hand, and spoke before she was called upon. "Ancient runes use the power of ancient symbols and words to channel magic, which allows us to enhance enchantments and other spells that require permanent inscriptions."

Professor Babbling smiled. "I couldn't have read it better myself!" What would have been a cutting comment from Professor Snape was significantly gentler when delivered by the smooth-cheeked Professor Babbling. "But that isn't the question I'm asking. Actually, I think I'm asking two questions. First, why do we use _ancient _runes? Second, why do we use ancient _runes_? Anyone?"

Harry offered a guess. "The meanings of ancient runes don't change."

"How so?"

"They're written in dead languages, so they'll stay consistent over time. They'll also be universal, the same for a French speaker as an English speaker."

"That's part of it," said Professor Babbling. "It's like the Latin taxonomic system used by muggle scientists to name animals and plants." Harry and Hermione understood what Professor Babbling meant, but it was clear that a large part of the class did not. "To answer your earlier question, Ms. Granger, this is also the reason that the incantations for some spells remain the same across all languages.

"But, as I said, that's only part of the reason that we use ancient runes," Professor Babbling continued. "Can anybody think of another reason?"

The class remained silent.

"A demonstration, then. _Lumos._" The tip of Professor Babbling's wand began to emit a soft, white light. "The spoken word calls forth the magic. But shouldn't I be able to say to my wand, 'light up,' and achieve the same effect?"

The students shook their heads.

"What if I said, '_nox_?' Would my wand light up?" In response to Professor Babbling's incantation, her wand darkened. Again, the students shook their heads.

"Correct. But _why_? Why does _lumos_ create light and _nox_ extinguish, rather than the opposite? Why does _aguamenti_ summon water, instead of sand?"

"Because the words mean something?" Hermione said, guessing.

"Vague, but pretty much correct," said Professor Babbling. "Let's take a brief side trip in our discussion. Who has seen a child perform accidental magic, even though the child couldn't speak yet? Maybe a younger brother or sister?"

Around half the class raised their hands.

"How can a child cast spells without any wand or incantation? Well, our best understanding is that magic is a wild, primitive energy. Very young children, who are also rather wild and primitive, can sometimes access magic. Even without a wand or incantation, young children are so closely aligned with magic that they are able access its power.

"As we grow older, we become less wild and more mature. Our inherent alignment with magic is diminished. In exchange, we gain an increased ability to exert control over magic, usually through wands and incantations. Does anybody see the connection to Ancient Runes?"

Silence.

"Come on," said Professor Babbling, standing up from her desk. "I'm trying to make this interesting! What's the difference between an ancient rune for the word 'light,' the incantation for _lumos_, and me saying to my wand, 'light up?'"

Hermione tentatively raised her hand. "Ancient runes are more primitive than modern language? So they're more connected to wild magic?"

"Does everybody see how Hermione made that connection? She's suggesting that ancient runes are like children." After a pause, in which nobody in the class gave any indication of understanding, Professor Babbling gestured to Hermione. "Can you explain?"

"Well… the word 'sun' looks nothing like the sun itself, but the rune for 'sun' is circular. The rune would be more closely aligned, which would mean that it could cause magic to have a sun-like effect more easily."

"That's true for many runes, but not all," said Professor Babbling. "What IS true for all ancient runes is that they are representations of ancient language. Ancient language is closer to the primitive roots of humanity, and therefore closer to the primitive roots of magic. Thus, the power of magic is accessed more easily. Most spells sound archaic to the modern ear, because most spells are derived from ancient languages and ancient runes."

Harry spoke up. "But if magic is wild, then wouldn't modern language be better for casting spells? Modern language would be more specific, which would allow spells to be cast with more precision."

"More precision, certainly. But less power. Think of magic like water behind a dam. Modern words might open a hole the size of a knut in the dam; the water would come out exactly where you wanted, but not in any volume great enough to make a difference."

"So ancient runes make a bigger hole?" Harry said.

"If you could speak the language from which ancient runes are derived, Mr. Potter, you could destroy the dam entirely. You'd certainly have enough water, but you would have no way of controlling it. Thankfully, however, the languages from which ancient runes are derived have been lost to us for centuries. The last wizard to have understood theses languages, if rumors are true, was Merlin himself."

"So that's why we use variations of Latin for spells," said Hermione. "It's a middle ground."

"Exactly. Latin is a middle language, providing a moderate amount of control without overly restricting access to magic. Think of Latin as opening a spillway at the side of a dam. It provides water for irrigation downstream, while also cutting off the flow before flooding occurs." Professor Babbling paused. "So, I'll ask again. Why do we use _ancient_ runes?"

"Because they allow us to access power," Hermione said.

"Yes," said Professor Babbling. "And why do we use ancient _runes_?"

Harry had often heard insight described as a flash, like lightning. When Harry suddenly realized the answer to Professor Babbling's question, though, it was more like an explosion of green fireworks in his head. The knowledge detonated, complete and in its entirety, in the front of his brain.

"We use _runes_ because the written word is more controlled than the spoken word," Harry said. "A written rune is more exact. It allows a wizard to use older languages and access powerful magic without being overwhelmed." As he spoke, his voice became more and more hesitant. It wasn't because he thought his answer might be wrong—he knew he was correct. Instead, Harry had started to wonder _why_ he was so certain. He had no reason to know this information, but it was so clearly _right_.

Professor Babbling smiled and pressed her hands together. "Excellent! Runes are restrictive, which can sometimes be an advantage!" Professor Babbling glanced around the class. Only Harry and Hermione seemed to be engaged by the discussion at all. "Oh, fine. I can see that we all just want to talk about the tournament. We're done for the day. The rest of the class period is yours, but be prepared to discuss the rune for 'sand' during next class."


	7. Chapter 7

The arrival of the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons occurred with great fanfare. The entire school was assembled to watch as the Beauxbatons carriage rose over the mountains, careened through the sky above the forbidden forest, and came to a crashing, jolting halt at the front of the school. Harry, who had managed to squeeze to the front of the crowd with Draco, distinctly heard the enormous headmistress from Beauxbatons tell Dumbledore that the horses pulling the carriage drank only single malt scotch.

Dumbledore assured her that Hagrid would take care to provide for the every need of her horses. "My dear Madame Maxime, they could be in no better care."

The Beauxbatons students followed Madame Maxime out of the carriage. They were dressed in blue uniforms, the girls with small capes instead of a cloak. All the students wore small hats that came to a point in the front. Each hat had a white ribbon wrapped around the crown, and a massive blue feather was tucked into the ribbon.

Harry attention was drawn away from the Beauxbatons students by shouts of astonishment. Hogwarts students had turned and were pointing at the lake, which had begun to bubble and froth. A giant beam burst from the middle of the foam, followed by an enormous crossbeam and a sail, and, finally, what appeared to be an enormous pirate ship. The ship sailed slowly to the shore and extended a long ramp. A line of people strode down the ramp, clad in bulky fur coats and hats. At the head of the line was a tall man with a weak chin, which he was clearly trying to disguise with a pointed beard. Dumbledore greeted this man as Igor Karkaroff. Slightly behind Karkaroff was a face that Harry recognized.

"Draco, look. I think that's Viktor Krum!"

Before Draco could get a good look, Professor McGonagall began ushering the students from Hogwarts back into the Great Hall. Draco fought to catch a glimpse of Krum, but the flood of students prevented him from doing so. Once inside the Great Hall, the students were directed to their house tables for dinner.

Draco sat next to Harry. "Do you really think it was Krum?"

"It looked like him," Harry said. "Didn't you say he was very young?"

"A prodigy," Draco said. "But I didn't know he was still in school."

Dumbledore strode through the doors of the Great Hall and raised his hands. The students, for once, fell silent immediately.

"I am pleased to present… the students of Beauxbatons Academy!" Dumbledore moved quickly to the front of the Great Hall, clearing the way for the blue-clad students of Beauxbatons.

The Beauxbatons students moved slowly into the Great Hall, darting among each other in a complicated dance maneuver that appeared to have been originally designed for ice skating. Madame Maxime strolled behind them, affecting an air of being unimpressed, but unable to hide her pride in her students.

The girls of Beauxbatons appeared to be, on the whole, rather more attractive than the girls of Hogwarts. The boys, meanwhile, were thin and wiry, in a way that suggested that they would be easy to defeat in a wrestling match, if you could ever catch them. As they reached the front of the Hall, the formation snapped into order, with one exceptionally pretty girl at its center. She curtseyed to Dumbledore, and a thousand conjured butterflies burst into existence around her.

The students of Hogwarts clapped and whistled, and the boys and girls from Beauxbatons moved off to the side of the Great Hall.

"They don't make them like that at Hogwarts," Draco said, eyes fixed on the girl who had given a curtsey. From Draco's other side, Pansy punched him in the arm.

Dumbledore gestured grandly toward the entrance. "I am also proud to present the students of the Durmstrang Institute!"

There was a shout from the entranceway, and the boys and girls of Durmstrang stormed into the Great Hall. They marched four abreast in a tight phalanx, moving with military precision and in lockstep unison. They chanted in a guttural foreign language, their words keeping in strict rhythm with their steps. Once the phalanx reached the front of the hall, the Durmstrang students smartly snapped to attention and turned on their heels.

Two Durmstrang students appeared at the doors of the Great Hall. They took two running steps, then tumbled forward into a series of backflips that lasted the length of the Great Hall. They finished their flips by rolling forward in a tight somersault, somehow producing their wands from some secret pocket in the midst of their tumble. As they rose to their feet, they brought their wands to their mouths and enormous gouts of fire burst forth.

The nearest students screamed and dove for cover, with the exception of the Gryffindor table, where the Weasley twins were holding their placemats aloft and attempting to light them afire.

Igor Karkaroff strode briskly forward from the doors of the hall. Next to him was…

"Viktor Krum," Draco whispered.

Karkaroff led his students to the front of the Hall, on the side opposite the Beauxbatons students.

"Welcome, everyone!" Dumbledore said. "In light of the occasion, Hogwarts, too, has prepared a performance for our guests. Students, if you will…"

Harry looked at Draco in confusion. What was Dumbledore talking about?

Dumbledore raised his arms. "Please join me in singing the Hogwarts School Song!"

Draco rolled his eyes. The Hogwarts School Song was a ridiculous bit of rubbish with no set rhythm or tune. Everybody sang at their own speed, volume, and pitch. In short, it sounded like hell.

"_Hogwarts! Hogwarts! Hoggy Warty Hogwarts!_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald,_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling,_

_With some interesting stuff_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff._

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot!_"

As the song drew to a ragged close, the Weasley twins shouted loudly into the hall. "Second verse, same as the first!" They immediately began to sing again, joined rather quickly and happily by Dumbledore. Confused, the rest of the students of Hogwarts rejoined the song.

As the song finished a second time, the Weasley twins again shouted, "Second verse, same as the first!"

Dumbledore was prepared, however. "Doubletime!" the Headmaster shouted. He raised his wand in the air and began twitching it back and forth, as if he were an orchestra conductor.

Again, the Hogwarts students sang the theme song, but this time twice as quickly, following the rhythm set by Dumbledore's wand. When the song finished again, the rest of Gryffindor had taken up the cry of the Weasley twins: "Second verse, same as the first!"  
"TRIPLETIME!"

The Hogwarts students gave tripletime a good go, but the speed was too much. Students began to mishmush their words and drop out of the song, usually accompanied by gales of laughter. Even Draco was smiling as he faltered and failed in the lyrics. In the end, only the Weasley twins, Lee Jordan and Dumbledore himself were able to finish successfully.

"SECOND VERSE, SAME AS THE FIRST!" they shouted.

"QUADRUPLETIME!"

The Weasleys and Jordan lost their place almost immediately, leaving Dumbledore to finish the song by himself. Remarkably, the headmaster was able to zip through the lyrics in a clear tenor, finishing with a flourish of his wand on the word "rot." The entire hall burst into applause, and the Weasleys clambered atop the Gryffindor table to give Dumbledore a standing ovation.

"Thank you, thank you," said Dumbledore, bowing slightly. "Now, if we would all be seated, dinner will be served!"

The Weasleys clambered down and took their seats. The students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang filtered in and took their seats among the Hogwarts students. Almost every boy from Hogwarts was trying to make space for the exceptionally attractive witch from Beauxbatons, much to the consternation of the Hogwarts girls. Draco and Harry, meanwhile, were gesturing wildly for the Durmstrang students to sit at their table. They got their wish, but Karkaroff directed Krum to sit at the front, as close to the staff table as possible. Harry and Draco were almost twenty seats away, and they would have to shout if they wanted to speak to Krum.

The staff table had several gaps in the seating for the new arrivals, including a double-wide space which was reserved to accommodate the large wingspan of Madame Maxime. Although she lacked Hagrid's girth, there was the distinct possibility that Madame Maxime was taller than the Hogwarts groundskeeper. Harry would have to see them side-by-side to be sure. The other spaces were filled by Karkaroff, Ludo Bagman, Barty Crouch, and Crouch's assistant Percy Weasley.

After pudding, Dumbledore announced that the selection process for Tri-Wizard Champions would begin immediately. Dumbledore revealed the independent judge: a large, roughly hewn wooden cup filled with blue-white flames.

"This is the Goblet of Fire," Dumbledore said. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours to submit their names. Consider carefully whether you wish to enter—placing your name within the Goblet is a binding magical contract. The tournament will test your daring, your magical prowess, your powers of deduction… and your ability to cope with imminent danger. The Goblet will be placed in the Great Hall tonight, surrounded by an age line which no one under the age of seventeen will be able to cross. Tomorrow night at seven, the Goblet will select a champion from each school, and the tournament will begin!"

Dumbledore glanced around the Great Hall. Every person was silent, leaning forward with rapt attention.

"Dear me. I hope that was suitably dramatic." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "One last word: students of Hogwarts, please consider lending a warm pair of socks to your new friends from Beauxbatons. Now off to bed with you!"

Dumbledore carried the Goblet to the front and center of the Great Hall. With a wave of his wand he conjured a pedestal, upon which he placed the Goblet. He immediately drew a circle around the Goblet, twenty feet in diameter, with the Goblet perfectly centered.

Harry had long ago decided that he would attempt to enter the tournament, and he was not at all dissuaded by the age line. As soon as the rest of the boys from Slytherin were asleep, Harry would be back with his invisibility cloak. Dumbledore's age line might prevent Harry from crossing, but it wouldn't prevent Harry from making a long distance submission.

Harry grinned as he stood from the Slytherin table. Sometimes, wizards were completely lacking in common sense.

*!*!*

It was just after midnight, and the Great Hall was quiet. Light from the full moon streamed down from the enchanted ceiling, casting a soft glow over the hall. The house banners, normally vibrantly colored, appeared blue-gray in the pale light. At the center of the hall sat the Goblet of Fire, silent and still, waiting for the next would-be champion to submit his or her name.

There was a flicker of motion within the hall. A piece of parchment floated up from the edge of the Slytherin table. It rose high in the air, almost to the ceiling of the Great Hall. The parchment began to wobble downward, falling gently toward the Goblet of Fire. A tongue of flame licked upward from the Goblet, incinerating the parchment before it could fall inside.

Under his invisibility cloak, Harry Potter swore softly.

Harry had been sitting in the Great Hall for over an hour, trying to submit his name for the Tri-Wizard tournament. After the rest of the Slytherin boys were asleep, Harry had crept out of the dungeons, hidden under his invisibility cloak. When he arrived at the Great Hall, he had been surprised to find that Dubmbledore, Karkaroff and Madame Maxime were still present, chatting amicably over desserts and glasses of wine. Ludo Bagman, Barty Crouch, and Percy Wealsey were also present, although Crouch and Weasley had foul expressions on their faces and were not joining in the conversation. Harry got the impression that Crouch and Weasley simply wanted everybody to leave, so they could go to bed.

Even though he was hidden under his invisibility cloak, Harry did not enter the Great Hall; Dumbledore had the uncanny ability to detect Harry's presence, even when Harry was under his invisible. Instead, Harry stood patiently by, allowing the older wizards to leave, one by one. Crouch and Percy were the last, and the gave the Goblet of Fire on final inspection before leaving the Great Hall and closing the doors behind them. Once they were out of sight, Harry opened the doors and tiptoed inside.

Harry hadn't tried walking across Dumbledore's age line—he respected the Headmaster's magical competence too much to hope that Dumbledore had made a mistake in its casting. Instead, Harry had been trying various ways to bypass the age line. He had started with a simple hovering charm, muttering _wingardium leviosa _and sending a piece of parchment with his signature hovering toward the Goblet. But, as the parchment approached, a flame shot out of the Goblet and reduced the parchment to ashes. Harry had tried several more times, from several other angles, but the result was always the same.

Next, Harry had tried a banishing charm, hoping to launch the parchment into the Goblet. The Goblet incinerated those pieces of parchment just as surely. Harry even tried banishing multiple pieces of parchment at the same time, but the Goblet's defenses rose to the occasion, burning each and every piece to cinders before it could enter the Goblet.

Harry then resorted to cruder methods. Remembering the logic puzzle that guarded the Philosopher's Stone in his first year, Harry hoped that Dumbledore might have forgotten about direct application of force. Harry balled up his parchment and threw it at the Goblet.

Once again, the Goblet burned the parchment to a crisp.

Harry tried a paper airplane, next. He hoped that the semi-random flight would evade the flames. The Goblet, however, refused to miss, and the paper airplanes were destroyed just as thoroughly as everything else.

This sent Harry deep into thought. The age line was a perplexing piece of magic; it didn't actually prohibit entry by the younger students, but instead removed them from the vicinity of the Goblet and marked them with large beards. But the age line was only triggered when it was crossed, either by an underage wizard or by an underage wizard's parchment. So, if Harry couldn't go to the Goblet, then Harry clearly needed to bring the Goblet to him.

Harry tried a hovering charm once again, this time on the Goblet itself, but the Goblet might as well have been rooted to its pedestal. He was no more successful with his banishing charm, and banishing the pedestal was similarly futile. The Goblet stubbornly refused to be knocked outside the age line.

Harry had one last thought. If he used a focused incineration curse, he could create a pseudo-blowtorch. With any luck, he could cut a stone or two out of the floor and physically lift the age line out of the floor. He would walk the border inward, until a portion of the Goblet was exposed, and then submit his name.

Harry was on his hands and knees, ready to ignite his wand, when the doors of the Great Hall opened with a bang. Harry jerked around, startled. Clomping up the center aisle of the Great Hall was Mad-Eye Moody.

Harry scuttled backward, away from the Goblet, until he was crouched under the Slytherin table. He was completely covered be his invisibility cloak, and his parchment and quill were under the cloak, as well. The only evidence of his presence was the ash on the floor surrounding the Goblet. Harry was fairly certain that he wouldn't be detected, as long as he stayed still and silent.

Moody walked toward front and center of the Great Hall, directly toward the Goblet. He walked with great purpose, never looking to one side or the other. When he reached the Goblet, he leaned over and stared down into the cup. After several moments, he pulled himself erect.

Moody glanced around the Great Hall, then knelt down to the floor. He touched his fingers to the ashes surrounding the Goblet, the remnants of Harry's attempts to enter his name, and crumbled the ashes between his fingers. Moody brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed, deeply.

Moody grunted, then stood. "Can't get your name in, eh?"

Harry remained silent. Moody was bluffing, trying to get Harry to give himself away.

"Come on, Potter. I know you're there." Moody turned and looked directly at Harry. The grizzled auror raised his hand and tapped his magical eye with his index finger. "Invisibility cloaks are nice, but they aren't infallible."

Harry sighed and stood, removing his cloak as he did so. He was in for detention, for sure.

"Hello, Professor."

"What've you been trying?" Moody asked. He seemed to be more curious than angry.

"Er… I tried a hovering charm and a banishing charm. I tried different heights and angles. I tried wadding up the parchment and throwing it in. I tried folding a paper airplane. I tried banishing multiple parchments at the same time. I tried knocking the Goblet and its pedestal outside the age line." Harry was surprised. Wasn't he going to get into trouble?

"Hrmph. Not bad. What were you going to do if you got your name into the Goblet?"

"I don't know. Brag, probably." Harry shrugged.

"And what if the Goblet chose your name?"

"Brag more, I guess."

"Did you ever stop to think, Potter, that this tournament could get you killed?" Moody scowled.

"I didn't know that you were so concerned about my wellbeing," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Go back to bed," Moody said. "You're wasting your time if you think you're going to get anything past Dumbledore's Age Line."

Harry hopped off the table and began walking out of the Great Hall. If he could just get out of Moody's sight, maybe the professor would forget to punish him.

"Ten points from Slytherin, Potter. Do you know why?"

Harry winced and stopped in his tracks. He turned and looked at Moody. "Breaking curfew?"

"No. Come on, Potter. Constant vigilance. When did your vigilance lapse tonight?"

"When I turned my back on you, you could have attacked me?"

Moody laughed. "If I were going to attack you, Potter, you'd have bigger problems than losing some house points."

Harry frowned. What else could he have been watching for? He was under his invisibility cloak. Moody shouldn't have been able to see him. The only way a normal person would have found Harry would have been by actually bumping into him.

And that was it.

"I wasn't ready to stun you," Harry said. "I should have had my wand ready to put you in a full body bind if you got too close."

Moody nodded. "It wouldn't have worked, of course, but you didn't know that. Five points to Slytherin for catching your own mistake. Now, get out of my sight before I do dock you for breaking curfew."

Harry turned and walked swiftly from the Great Hall. He did not like Mad-Eye Moody. Not at all.

*!*!*

At breakfast, the Great Hall was abuzz with talk of the potential Hogwarts champion. Warrington had gotten up early and submitted his name, and Harry knew that Pucey had turned his name in the night before. Angelina Johnson from Gryffindor was being patted on the back quite a bit; it seemed that she had put her name in, as well.

The Weasley Twins had tried to submit their names after taking an aging potion, but they had been repelled by Dumbledore's age line. The age line was gentler to the Weasleys than it had been to Harry's parchment; the twins grew luxurious beards, rather than being incinerated. They seemed to find the whole event rather amusing, and refused to have the beards removed until Dumbledore insisted that they go to the hospital wing. When they returned, they caused quite a commotion at the Gryffindor table.

Harry noticed something else going on, as well. Fred seemed to be shaking quite a few hands, and whenever he did, George seemed to be writing on a piece of parchment. Harry had to watch a few times to be sure, but after four of five transactions, he was able to see Gryffindor students slipping coins to Fred during the handshake. Mostly it seemed like a few knuts, but Harry saw the occasional sickle change hands. There was even a galleon from Cormac McClaggen, one of the richer Gryffindors.

Harry approached Fred and George after breakfast. Whatever betting was taking place, Harry was interested.

"I heard that I should speak to you gentlemen if I wanted to make a wager," Harry said quietly.

Fred glanced around quickly. "And where might you have heard that, my bespectacled friend?

"Just an idea I had."

"Well, you've come to the right wizards. Keep it quiet, though."

Harry nodded. McGonagall certainly would not approve. "How do I bet?"

George unrolled his parchment. "Here's a list of the seventh years that are over seventeen. Next to their names are the current odds."

"That's a nice bit of spellwork," Harry said. "The parchment updates itself?"

George nodded. "I make a note of who places the bet, and in what amount, and the odds update automatically."

Harry glanced at the sheet. Cedric Diggory was the clear favorite, with Johnson and Pucey slightly farther behind. Harry guessed that the Gryffindors were betting for Johnson; they probably couldn't conceive of anybody except a Gryffindor being chosen as champion. Slytherins were probably doing the same for Pucey, for essentially the same reason. Diggory's dominance was a mystery, however. Hufflepuffs would be loyal to Diggory, but Harry couldn't see any reason that he should have so many more bets than Pucey or Johnson.

Harry glanced farther down the parchment. The highest-ranked Ravenclaw was almost halfway down the list.

"So," Harry said, "Hufflepuffs are betting on Diggory, but so are the Ravenclaws?"

Fred grinned. "The smart money is on Diggory," he said.

"Five galleons on Diggory, then." Harry had always respected Cedric, ever since second year. Diggory was fair, even if he was absurdly wholesome.

George whistled as he scratched Harry's name down on the parchment. "Big spender."

"Who's got the worst odds?" Harry asked.

Fred and George glanced at one another. "You do," they said in unison.

"Me? What are you talking about?"

"The Creevey brothers are big fans of yours," Fred said. Harry remembered that the older Creevey had constantly tried to take Harry's picture during second year. The only thing that stopped Creevey was his petrification. "They wanted to bet on you to be the Hogwarts champion. They wouldn't let it drop, so we gave you one thousand to one odds."

Harry laughed. "There's no way you can cover that if my name comes out. Why don't you put me down for a sickle, as well. Will that lower the odds enough for you?"

George scribbled on his parchment, and watched as the numbers changed. "Yeah, that does it. You're at two hundred to one, now. If your name comes out, we can cover."

Fred suddenly looked alarmed. "Harry. You have to be honest with me. Did you get your name in the Goblet? We'd barely turn a profit if your name comes out."

"Of course I couldn't get my name in," Harry said. "I was just doing that on a whim. Donating a sickle to a good cause."

"Bribing the brothers not to pull a prank on Potter for the foreseeable future?" asked Fred.

"If you want to be vulgar about it, then yes, exactly." Harry paused. "What's the big deal, anyway? What do you need all this money for?"

Fred and George smiled broadly. "That's classified," they said in unison.

Harry shook his head. "I'm going to be late for class. I'll stop by at lunch with my money."


	8. Chapter 8

Excitement built throughout the day as dinner—and the selection of Champions—grew closer. The students from every school were eagerly anticipating the Halloween Feast. There was a rumor going around Slytherin that Viktor Krum was the only student from Durmstrang who had been allowed to enter his name, but Harry wasn't so sure he believed it; why bother bringing an entire boat full of seventh-years if you were only going to allow one student to enter? And wasn't the Goblet of Fire the best judge of who the champion should be?

At dinner, the Durmstrang students again sat at the Slytherin table. Krum was once again surrounded by a protective cluster of his classmates, and, slightly beyond the Durmstrang students, a crowd of seventh year Slytherin students, each trying to sit as close to Krum as possible. It was almost embarrassing.

At the end of the feast, Dumbledore called everybody's attention to the front of the hall. The Goblet of Fire roared to life, and a piece of parchment was thrown into the air. Dumbledore carefully caught the parchment between his fingertips and unfolded it.

"The champion for Beaxbaton Academy is Fleur Delacoeur!"

A girl stood and hugged Madam Maxime, the same girl who had curtseyed to Dumbledore the previous day. Dumbledore waved her forward, and she walked through a door at the front of the Great Hall. There were cheers and clapping from some of the Beaxbaton students, but others remained silent and instead cast hateful looks at Fleur's back. One disappointed girl burst into tears.

The Goblet roared with flames again, and another piece of parchment rose into the air. Dumbledore caught and unfolded it.

"The champion for the Durmstrang Institute is Viktor Krum!"

The Durmstrang students roared their approval. The Slytherin table clapped and cheered loudly, as well. Krum rose from the Slytherin table and Dumbledore directed him through the same door as Fleur.

Flames rose from the Goblet a third time. This was the moment of truth: the Hogwarts Champion. Dumbledore read the name and smiled.

"The champion for Hogwarts is Cedric Diggory!"

The Hufflepuff table erupted into complete chaos, cheering and clapping and shouting and stomping their feet. The Ravenclaw table cheered rather loudly, as well, for reasons known only to Harry and the Weasley twins. The Gryffindors were clapping politely, as was Harry—he had just made several galleons, after all. The rest of Harry's table was silent. Disbelief was evident on the face of every Slythrin; they couldn't believe that a Hufflepuff had been chosen to represent all of Hogwarts. A _Hufflepuff_.

"These are your Champions," Dumbledore said. "In a few moments, they-"

The Goblet blazed to life a fourth time, hurling yet another piece of parchment into the air. After this final act, the Goblet dimmed and became dark. Dumbledore caught the parchment automatically and unfolded it slowly. His blue eyes flicked back and forth, reading the parchment several times before he spoke.

"Harry Potter." Dumbledore's voice was calm and clear. There could be no mistake.

Harry rocked backwards in his seat. What had just happened?

The Slytherin table broke into a rush of whispers. Did he just say Harry Potter? How had Potter done it? Why Potter and not Pucey? Maybe Dumbledore was joking.

"Harry Potter, please come forward," Dumbledore said. Dumbledore's gaze had found Harry at the Slytherin table. His piercing blue eyes would not allow any disobedience.

Draco elbowed Harry in the ribs. "Harry, go."

Harry stood and walked forward. The Gryffindor and Hufflepuff students were staring at him hatefully, with the exception of the Creevey brothers, who looked as if they had just won the lottery. Which, in a way, they had. The Ravenclaw students were more perplexed than angry, but they stared just the same.

"Right this way, Harry," Dumbledore said, ushering him through the door at the front of the hall. Harry could see Karkaroff and Madam Maxime rushing toward the front of the hall. "I'll be there in just a moment."

Harry walked through the door and found himself in a small room with Diggory, Krum and Delacoeur. He stood on the threshold for a moment, unsure what to do.

"Did zey send you for us? Do zey want us to come out?" Fleur asked Harry.

Harry shook his head. "I… um…" Harry looked at Diggory. "My name came out of the Goblet, too." Harry realized that he sounded as if he were apologizing.

Diggory's mouth dropped open in shock. Fleur seemed more indignant than surprised, and Krum's face hardly moved at all.

"Very funny," said Fleur. "What do zey want?"

"I don't think he's lying," said Cedric. Once again, as always, Cedric was the good guy. "How'd you get your name in?"

"I didn't," said Harry.

Behind Harry, the door to the chamber burst open. Ludo Bagman, head of Magical Games and Sports, strode into the room.

"Extraordinary, Harry!" shouted Ludo. "A fourth Tri-Wizard Champion! What a piece of excitement!"

A crowd of adults was close on Bagman's heels: Dumbledore and Karkaroff and Madam Maxime, Barty Crouch and Percy Weasley, Snape and Moody and McGonagall. McGonagall locked the door behind her, preventing anybody else from entering the room.

In the center of the room, Madam Maxime and Karkaroff were shouting at Dumbledore, accusing Dumbledore of purposefully misenchanting the age line. Dumbledore held up his hands to quiet them.

"Please, please," he said. "I am just as surprised as the two of you. Perhaps Mr. Potter could shed some light on the event."

All eyes turned to Harry. Harry, by far the youngest person in the room, suddenly felt very small.

"Did you put your name in the Goblet, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"No," said Harry.

"Did an older student put your name in the Goblet for you, Harry?"

"That would have worked!?" Harry blurted. He immediately turned red and looked down at his shoes. "No, I didn't even think of it." Mostly, he was embarrassed because he had neglected such an obvious avenue to submitting his name. It appeared that Harry, too, had fallen prey to the wizarding world's lack of common sense.

"Of course it would not have worked," Dumbledore said gently. "Your reaction, however, reveals the truth of the matter. If you had succeeded in your attempts to submit your name, you would not have been nearly so indignant that you had missed such an easy solution." Dumbledore turned back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. "I believe that should answer your questions. Whatever occurred tonight, it was not because Mr. Potter submitted his name."

"We can't believe him," said Karkaroff. "The two of you are practically admitting that he tried to submit his name!"

"As did at least a dozen other underage students from Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, "none of them successfully." Dumbledore stroked his beard. "What I find most curious is that Mr. Potter was selected _in addition to_ Mr. Diggory, and not _instead of_ Mr. Diggory. If the Goblet selected Harry, it should have selected _only_ Harry."

The room was quiet for a moment while everybody pondered Dumbledore's observation. It was Karkaroff who broke the silence.

"I demand that Potter be disqualified," Karkaroff said to Ludo Bagman. "Alternatively, I demand that the Goblet be re-lit and Durmstrang be allowed an additional champion."

"I make this demand as well, for Beaxbatons Academy" said Madame Maxime.

Bagman looked stricken, and clearly had no idea how to respond. Barty Crouch answered instead.

"What you request is impossible," Crouch said. "When Potter's name was placed in the Goblet, he was entered into a binding magical contract. Because his name emerged from the Goblet, he must compete. Moreover, the Goblet will not re-light until the next Tri-Wizard tournament. There will be no additional champions."

Karkaroff clenched his fists. "This is absurd! I have half a mind to pack up my students and leave tonight!"

Moody chuckled. "Don't make empty threats, Karkaroff. This is a binding magical contract. Krum has to compete. And that's the rub, isn't it? Krum has to compete, and so does Potter. It seems rather convenient, don't you think?"

"What are you insinuating?" Karkaroff said.

"I think Dumbledore is right," Moody said. "Potter didn't put his own name in the Goblet; his magic isn't developed enough to hoodwink such a powerful magical object. Somebody put Potter's name in the Goblet, knowing he'd be forced into the competition." Moody clomped forward. "Somebody who would enjoy seeing Harry Potter killed."

"That's a terrible plan," Karkaroff said. "There's no way to guarantee that Potter would be selected by the Goblet."

"It's more likely that somebody powerful wanted to give Hogwarts two bites at the apple!" Madame Maxime said, glaring at Dumbledore.

The room erupted again into a tumult of voices. Dumbledore stood quietly in the center of the room, looking intently at Harry. After several seconds, Harry felt control of his temper slipping away from him.

"Stop it!" Harry shouted. Once again, all eyes turned toward Harry, but Harry didn't care about the attention any more. "You're accusing Dumbledore of cheating because that's what you would have done! If Dumbledore wanted another Champion, do you think he'd pick a fourth year student? I can't even apparate!"

"The boy makes an excellent point," Snape said quietly. Harry felt a flood of thankfulness wash over him. At least he had the support of his Head of House.

"We do not know how this situation came to be," Dumbledore said gently. "However, we have no choice but to accept it. Both Mr. Diggory and Mr. Potter are bound to compete." Madame Maxime opened her mouth to protest, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "Unless you are prepared to propose an alternative, Madame, I believe that we must simply forge onward." Madame Maxime said nothing, and Dumbledore nodded. "Mr. Crouch? If you would recite the rules for the champions, please?"

Mr. Crouch began reciting the rules of the tournament. Harry was only half-listening. The other half of his mind was churning. How had he been chosen? Why? How had his name gotten into the Goblet? How were both he and Cedric selected?

At the conclusion of the rules, Dumbledore dismissed Cedric and Harry to return to their dormitories. Harry began to follow Cedric, but Snape grabbed Harry's arm.

"My office. Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock."

Harry nodded, and Snape strode away in a swirl of black cloak. Perhaps Snape's support wasn't quite as enthusiastic as Harry had thought.

Harry walked back into the Great Hall. The feast had ended and the students had returned to their dormitories. The Goblet of Fire still stood in the middle of the hall, unlit and lifeless. Cedric Diggory was standing near the Hufflepuff table, waiting for Harry.

"You ready to go?" Diggory asked.

"I don't need somebody to walk me home," Harry said.

Diggory shrugged. "It's after curfew. No detentions if you're walking around with Head Boy." Diggory paused. "And I wanted to talk to you."

"Talk to me? About this?" Harry started walking out of the Great Hall, and Diggory fell into step beside him. "You know as much as I do. You were in that room."

"Come on."

"I'm not kidding. I don't know how my name got put in." Harry frowned. "I'm not saying I didn't try, but I am saying that I didn't succeed."

"If that's how you want things to be…" Cedric shrugged. "I was disappointed we didn't get to play quidditch against one another last year. It'll be good to have another match against you, even if it isn't on the pitch."

They walked quietly for the rest of the distance to the Slytherin common room, where Harry paused just outside. On the other side of the door was his entire house. Pucey, Derrick and Bole would have been furious about Diggory's selection alone; that Harry had been chosen ahead of them, as well, would leave them twice as angry. Draco would be upset that Harry had left him out of the scheme—which was true, actually, even if Harry had ultimately been unable to submit his name. Tracey would be worried sick, concerned about Harry's safety. And Pansy… Pansy would probably tackle Harry the second he walked through the door, eager to congratulate him.

Actually, the bit with Pansy might not be so bad.

"What are you waiting for?" Diggory asked. "You don't have to worry about keeping your password secret. I have it already—Head Boy and all that."

"That's not it," Harry said. "What am I going to say to them?"

Diggory made a noise in the back of his throat. "Go in there and act like a champion. Whether or not you managed to put your name in the Goblet, it's what you wanted, right?" With that, Diggory walked away.

Harry took a deep breath. "Sinuous," he said. The door to the common room opened, and he stepped forward into the soft green light.

The common room was full of students; everyone was waiting for Harry's return, and Harry was willing to bet that not a single Slytherin was in his or her dormitory. Immediately to the left of the common room door was Astoria Greengrass, Daphne's younger sister. As Harry stepped inside the common room, her head jerked up. Her eyes got wide, and she turned and shouted to the common room: "Harry's back!"

All conversation stopped. For the fourth time in only a few short hours, every eye in the room was focused on Harry. There was a long moment where nobody said a thing.

In the farthest corner of the room, a lone voice cheered: "Harry Potter!" Harry recognized the voice as Tracey's. In that same corner, hands began to clap. The applause spread like wildfire, and before Harry knew what was happening, the entire common room was clapping and cheering.

Harry looked around, astonished. The people he most expected to be upset with him, Pucey, Derrick and Bole were at the front of the crowd, cheering and smiling. Pucey stepped forward and pulled Harry into a rough embrace.

"If quidditch has to be cancelled for this stupid tournament, at least one of our own is competing!" Pucey said.

Harry felt hands tugging on his shoulders. Everybody seemed to want to congratulate him, shake his hand, pat him on the back, or give him a hug. Harry plastered a smile on his face and did his best to navigate through the crowd. It seemed like it would never end.

Harry found a butterbeer thrust into his hand be Theo Nott. "Drink up!"

"How'd you get this?" Harry asked. "There's no way you made it to Hogsmeade and back." Harry might have been able to manage, or the Weasley twins, but not Theo Nott.

"I snuck some past Filch at the start of the year," Nott said. "I was saving it for a special occasion, and I think this qualifies."

Before Harry could reply, he was pulled back into the whirlwind of his housemates. It was frantic and overwhelming. Harry had hoped to get back to his dormitory and go to sleep, but that was certainly not going to happen.

Harry told himself not to get upset. He could imagine Tracey's voice almost as clearly as if she were standing next to him: "These are the people you need to be friends with." So Harry kept smiling, long past the point when his face started to hurt, long past the point where the noise in the common room gave him a headache, long past the point where repeating the same meaningless small-talk conversation had become unbearably dull. And through it all, Harry kept wondering… why? What had happened to his house? Why was everyone so happy?

The idea that Slytherin was unified as a house was a facade that the Slytherin students put on for the rest of the school. If a Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor was watching, Harry would act as if he was the best of friends with any Slytherin, even Urquhart. Once Harry passed the doors of the Slytherin common room, however, he had to watch his back.

The internal politics of Slytherin was like a roiling basket of snakes. Pure Social Darwinism, in which only the most cunning could survive unscathed. It wasn't the downside of being in Slytherin; instead, it was the whole point. Any time Harry had done anything conspicuously successful, the house had been evenly split: half the students would try to increase social standing by currying favor with Harry, and the other half would attack Harry, trying to show dominance over Harry and place themselves higher on the social ladder.

The only time that the entire house was happy was after a quidditch victory, but even then there was an undercurrent of social tension. Harry had never before experienced such uniform cheerfulness from his housemates. This party had no right to be so pleasant. It was unnerving.

As the night moved on, however, Harry discovered the source of his housemates' unnatural calm: Draco Malfoy. Harry didn't hear much grumbling throughout the night, but whenever he did, Draco suddenly appeared to smooth things over. Whenever the party seemed to flag, Draco was there to rally the troops for more celebration. Whenever a conversation started to go nasty, Draco swooped in and started spouting about Slytherin pride.

Harry's suspicions were confirmed during a conversation with Montague and Warrington. Harry had been talking to his quidditch teammates for several minutes when Montague leaned in conspiratorially.

"Harry," the older boy said quietly, "You have to tell us. How did you and Draco get your names into the cup?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Draco told you that, did he?" Harry carefully avoided either confirming or denying Montague's statement, trying to gain more information before he committed himself to an answer.

Montague nodded, confirming Harry's suspicion. "How'd you manage it? Everyone's dying to know. It's all people can talk about."

Harry grinned. It was a look that exuded pure confidence. "Telling will ruin the fun."

"That's exactly what Draco said," Warrington muttered. Harry wasn't surprised; he and Draco had picked up many of the same turns of phrase during their friendship.

After a few moments, Harry excused himself from the conversation and walked across the room to get a drink. He wasn't really thirsty, but he needed time to think. Obviously, Draco had smoothed things over in Slytherin and instigated this enormous celebration. In exchange, Draco was taking a part of Harry's glory, claiming that his own name had gone into the cup, as well. It was a good arrangement. Harry got a warm reception where he might otherwise have been frozen out, and Draco improved his social position.

The next time Harry was able to catch Draco's eye, he gave his friend a warm smile and a nod of appreciation. Draco tossed off a flippant salute before disappearing back into the crowd.

When Harry next looked at the clock, he saw that it was past one o'clock in the morning. Somehow, time had gotten away from him. Harry needed to be awake in less than six hours if he wanted to eat breakfast and be properly dressed before meeting Snape.

Harry made his way toward Tracey and Daphne, who were standing near the door to the door to their dormitory. Harry draped an arm over Tracey's shoulder and leaned down to speak into her ear, so that he could be heard over the crowd.

"I need to get out of here," Harry said in a low voice. "I have to be in Snape's office at eight. Can you arrange something? I don't want to seem like I'm snubbing my own party."

Tracey stared off into space for several seconds, not moving. Harry recognized this as her "thinking" expression. Harry left his arm draped over her shoulder, allowing her to process his request without interruption.

"Got it," Tracey said. She looked up at Harry. "Give me five minutes. I have to find Draco." With that, she was off into the crowd.

As Harry watched her go, he grinned a little. Tracey was a real friend, and dead useful.

"You shouldn't do that to Tracey," Daphne said. "Or, at least, you shouldn't unless you mean it."

"Do what? Ask her for help? I need to get to sleep."

Daphne shook her head, but didn't elaborate.

Across the room, there was a sudden pounding on the Slytherin piano. Draco was standing in front of the piano, fingers poised to play. The room quieted a bit, and all heads turned toward Draco.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, tomorrow is the first day of the rest of the tournament. Our Champion needs to be at his best, so I'm officially ordering him up to bed!" Draco pointed a finger at Harry. "And don't give me any backtalk, young man, or my father will hear of it!" Everybody laughed, including Harry. "But before he goes, let's give him a rousing sendoff, shall we?" Draco turned back to the piano, and played a quick series of notes. "And… _Hail to Slytherin!_"

"Hail, Slytherin" was the song that Slytherin crowd would sing after a quidditch victory. As Draco sang, he banged loudly on the piano. What he lacked in technique, he made up in enthusiasm. The Slytherin students quickly joined Draco in the song. Derrick, Bole and Pucey had their arms draped over each other's shoulders as they screamed, rather than sang, the lyrics.

"_Hail to Slytherin!_

_Hail to victory!_

_Serpents ascendant!_

_Hail the silver and green!_"

As Draco played, Harry moved toward the stairs. When Harry was several steps up, he turned to the crowd and began waving his arms like an orchestra conductor. Harry remembered Flint doing something similar during last year's match against Gryffindor, and it seemed appropriate. The crowd loved it, and sang even louder in response.

As Draco finished the song, he began pounding wildly on the piano. "Harry Potter, ladies and gentlemen!"

The crowd gave a massive cheer, and Harry waved on last time. Before the cheer could end, Harry turned and dashed up the stairs, through the door to the dormitory.

*!*!*

As Harry was finishing changing into his pajamas, Draco entered the dormitory. Based on the noise that blared through the open door, the party was still going strong.

"How are you doing?" Draco asked.

"Good," Harry said. "Thanks for all that, by the way."

"Don't ever say that I never did anything for you."

"I'd never say that. I also wouldn't say that you never did anything for yourself."

Draco shrugged. "So it's good for both of us. What's the harm in that? I could have brooded and grumbled that you didn't include me, or I could take advantage." Draco sat on the edge of his bed and looked at Harry. "So, how'd you do it? You can tell me, at least."

"Honestly? I didn't."

Draco frowned.

"Really, Draco. I tried, sure. I spent an hour under my invisibility cloak trying to get my name in that goblet. I only stopped because I got caught by Moody."

Draco did not seem convinced.

"Think about it," Harry said. "Each school should only get one champion. Even if I submitted my name, it should have been Diggory OR me, not Diggory AND me."

"So what does it mean?" Draco's expression eased, slightly.

"Moody reckons that somebody submitted my name to try to get me killed."

Draco rolled his eyes. "The man isn't satisfied unless he's discovered three murder plots before breakfast. Who would want to kill you?"

"I can think of a few wizards," Harry said. Peter Pettigrew was at the head of the list.

"However it happened, you should make the most of it," Draco said.

Harry smiled wanly. "Thanks. When I die, I'll die popular."

"That's the spirit." Draco punched Harry lightly on the arm. "I'm going back to the party. Get your rest, and good luck with Snape tomorrow."

* * *

**A/N: **_It seems that everybody loves discussing the Dark Arts; I've had more reviews and PMs about Moody's class than any other chapter in the entire series. _

_Thus far, my favorite comment has come from caellwin. While discussing the Unforgiveable Curses, I mentioned that the Entrail-Expelling Curse didn't seem to have a legitimate use. Caellwin's response: "[It's] just a cooking charm, like most of the supposed 'Dark Arts.'"_

_This is the funniest thing I have read this month, and it makes so much sense. _

_Entrails-Expelling Curse? Giving you the freshest haggis since the 1600s._

_Blood boiling curse? Duck soup, obviously._

_Imperius curse? It's just a teaching tool. Learn how to cook soufflé, first hand!_

_Killing curse? The preferred way to kill hog prior to roasting, so you don't ruin your presentation._

_Gemino curse? When you absolutely need another set of dishes, RIGHT NOW!_

_Flagrante curse? Keeps hungry guests away from dessert until the main course is finished._


	9. Chapter 9

Harry arrived at Snape's office at seven fifty-nine a.m. Harry had learned from previous meetings with Snape that punctuality was essential. If Harry arrived late, Snape would criticize him for laziness, lack of attention to detail, and wasting time. If Harry arrived too early, Snape would drop biting comments about Harry being overeager and having nothing better to do than stand in hallways, waiting for more important people. So, Harry now arrived one minute early to all appointments, and knocked on Snape's door thirty seconds before the appointed meeting time.

Snape opened his door and gestured to a chair opposite his desk. "Sit, Potter."

Harry sat. Snape did not.

"What do you have to say about last night's debacle?" Snape asked.

"It really wasn't me," Harry said.

"Tell me everything."

Harry began with the announcement, and his plan to sneak out and attempt to enter the tournament. He mentioned that Moody had discovered him and sent him back to his dormitory. "And that was it," Harry said. "I didn't get my name in the Goblet, and I went to bed."

"Did you see anybody else?" Snape asked.

"No, sir." Harry shook his head. "After Mr. Crouch and Percy left, I was alone until Professor Moody arrived."

Snape was quiet for a long moment. "Do you know what Veritaserum is, Potter?"

"Truth serum?"

"The most powerful truth serum known to the wizarding world. One drop would cause a young wizard to answer even the most embarrassing of questions. It is extraordinarily difficult to brew. I, however, happen to have some on hand." Snape reached into his desk and removed a small vial of liquid. He placed it on his desktop and began to roll it back and forth under his fingers. "Do you think, Mr. Potter, that your answers would be the same if you were under the influence of Veritaserum?"

"Yes, they'll be the same," Harry said. Harry didn't like the idea of taking a truth potion, but he had brought it upon himself. If he hadn't been attempting to get his name into the Goblet, or if he hadn't gotten caught, he would probably be free from scrutiny by now.

"I wonder," Snape said. "Your escapades at the end of your last school year have caused me to re-evaluate your character."

Harry glanced at the clock on Snape's wall. His first class started in thirty minutes. "Let's get this over with," Harry said. The longer he waited, the more likely it was that he'd still be under the influence of truth serum when class started. _That_ would be a horrible experience.

Snape continued to roll the vial of Veritaserum across his desk, coolly considering Harry's offer. Snape's face was still, and betrayed no hint of his thoughts. Finally, Snape grabbed the vial in his hand and replaced it in his desk.

"There will be no need for that, Mr. Potter. Although I am reluctant to say this aloud, I agree with Professor Moody: your name was most likely entered in the Goblet by somebody who means you harm. You understand, of course, that I needed to be sure of that fact."

Harry nodded. Even though he was innocent, he was still relieved. "Who do you think did it?"

"I am sure that the same suspect has leapt to the front of both our minds. However, the Headmaster has seen to it that rats such as Pettigrew cannot easily return to the castle." Snape tapped a finger on his desk. "We cannot assume that Pettigrew is responsible for this. Or, if he is responsible, we cannot assume that he acted alone. There may be an accomplice."

"I understand, sir. I will be careful."

"See to it that you are," Snape said. "The Headmaster has told me that you possess a certain article of clothing which allows you to move unseen through the halls of this school. Keep it close at hand."

"It already is, sir. I got in the habit last year."

"Good. If your judgment has improved since then, you might make it through the tournament alive." Snape paused. When he spoke again, his voice had changed slightly. "How do you plan to prepare for the tournament?"

"Er…" The question caught Harry off guard. "Mostly I was going to focus on survival. I hadn't gotten much farther than that."

Snape frowned. "Still finding new ways to disappoint me, I see. What, may I ask, has led you to believe that mere adequacy will be tolerated in Slytherin?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Exactly. If you plan to win the tournament, but fall short, you still have a fair chance at survival. If you plan merely to survive, and fall short, you will be dead. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Snape leaned back in his chair. "I will not be allowed to offer you any help, Potter. Because we are in Slytherin, Crouch will undoubtedly assume that you and I will attempt to conspire and cheat. Crouch will ensure that we receive more than our fair share of scrutiny. After today, it will likely be impossible for us to meet behind closed doors until the tournament is concluded."

"What if I need help?"

"The prohibition against assisting a champion applies only to the Hogwarts staff," Snape said. "I suggest that you look elsewhere for counsel. Your classmates, for example. It would be prudent for you to form a small group of trustworthy students, which would then assist you in your tournament preparations."

Harry nodded. Even before Snape had finished speaking, Harry knew who he would ask: Draco, Tracey and Hermione.

"Moreover," Snape continued, "While I may not assist you directly with the tournament, I am still permitted to answer general questions related to magical knowledge, asked for your own edification. If the answers to those questions happen to have immediately useful applications, then so much the better."

"So, if I ask you what the first task is…"

"I will be unable to tell you."

"But if I ask you how to unlock a door?"

"_Alohomora_ is the incantation you're looking for." Snape gave Harry a thin smile. "I am glad that we understand each other, Mr. Potter. I suggest that you begin your preparations at once. Basic defensive spells would be an excellent starting point, as you cannot compete if you are dead."

"Of course, sir."

"Do you have any questions for me?" Snape had begun straightening papers on his desk. He was clearly ready to dismiss Harry and move onto the day's work.

Harry took a deep breath. "Actually, yes. I think I know how my name was selected, and I wanted to know what you thought."

"Indeed?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry nodded. "I keep coming back to my name coming out of the goblet in addition to Diggory's. Like Dumbledore said, it should have been one of us as Hogwarts champion, not both. And I kept thinking about this rumor that was going around school, that Viktor Krum was the only student from Durmstrang whose name was entered into the Goblet, so that he would be guaranteed to be chosen…"

"I had not heard this rumor," Snape said skeptically. Harry had not expected Snape to know—this was student gossip, the sort of thing thing that teachers either didn't hear or didn't pay attention to you. "What does it have to do with your predicament?"

"What if another school was created? A fourth school, with only one student: me. The Goblet just did what came naturally, and selected the best candidate from the fourth school. Thus, Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory, both champions."

Snape sat back in his chair. "Have you considered the full ramifications of your theory?"

"Er… no."

"Mr. Potter, any adult wizard with reasonable magical skill could have confunded the Goblet in the manner you just described. Every adult in the castle must now be considered a suspect. More troubling, however, is the cleverness of the plan. Our suspect is as cunning as he is powerful, which means that he is significantly more dangerous than we previously feared."

Harry felt his shoulders droop. The morning suddenly seemed gloomier.

"Tell nobody of your theory," Snape said. "This requires further consideration." Snape glanced at the clock. "Classes begin in fifteen minutes. You are dismissed."

Harry nodded and collected his things. He left Snape's office without saying another word.

Harry's next class was Arithmancy. Fifteen minutes wasn't enough time to go down to the Great Hall and meet his friends—as soon as Harry arrived, he would have to turn around and walk back to class. Harry decided that he would just go to class early and save a seat for Hermione.

The most direct route to Arithmancy took Harry through a secret passage on the second floor. Harry knew the passage and its password by heart, after frequently using it to sneak to the kitchens. The passage started behind a large painting of Grogg the Great, King of the Goblins. (Harry would not have known this if the painting had not been conspicuously labeled—nobody listened in History of Magic.)

"Crow," Harry whispered. The painting of Grogg slid aside, and Harry stepped into the passage. Harry had no idea why Grogg would budge over for crows, but it worked. As the painting slid shut behind him, Harry cast a quick illuminating charm to light the way.

As Harry approached the end of the passage, he heard two familiar voices: the Weasley twins. Harry occasionally bumped into the Weasleys while he was using the secret passages to move around Hogwarts. Generally, they would nod and say hello to one another. Once, however, Harry had come upon George when he was snogging Angelina Johnson. After that disaster, Harry always approached more discretely.

As Harry came around the last corner, he saw that it was just Fred and George speaking to one another. Both twins had their wands out and lit. They were bending over a piece of parchment, grumbling and pointing to various bits of writing.

"Hello, Weasleys," Harry said.

"Harry. Just who we wanted to see." George said. There was a strange tone to his voice, but Harry couldn't quite place it.

"What are you two doing here?" Harry asked.

"Running from Ravenclaws," Fred said. "Also hiding from Hufflepuffs, and concealing ourselves from the Creeveys." Fred had the same odd sound to his voice. Fred grinned at Harry, but he wasn't being funny.

"And all because of you," George said.

Harry suddenly understood the undercurrent to their words. The Weasleys were so cheerful, generally, that Harry hadn't known what their voices would sound like if they were dripping with malevolence. Harry was starting to regret taking the shortcut to class, but he didn't know why the Weasleys would be upset with him.

"What's wrong, guys?" Harry backed slightly away, and moved his wand so that it was more directly in front of him. Fred and George turned to face Harry directly. Harry still had some hope that things wouldn't turn out awful, as everybody's wand was still casting _lumos_. Nobody had done anything aggressive… yet.

"You're what's wrong," George said. That was rather aggressive, actually.

"Your name came out of the Goblet," Fred said.

This again? "I didn't know you were such fans of Diggory," Harry said.

"We're not," said George. "But we're not fans of liars, either."

"Little liar loves a laugh," Fred said, his voice lilting and taunting. "You lied right to our freckled faces. 'No, Fred, my name isn't in the cup. Here, take my money, George, I'm betting on myself for a lark.'"

Harry suddenly realized what had happened. With both Diggory and Harry being selected, the twins wouldn't be able to cover the payout on all the bets. If Harry alone had been selected, they would have broken even, barely. But now the twins were going to lose big.

Harry raised his left hand, palm out and fingers spread. "Guys, believe me, I didn't put my name in the Goblet."

"Who did?" George asked.

"Dumbledore and Moody and Snape think that somebody is trying to kill me."

"They're right," said George. "It's me."

"If I knew my name was going to come out, I would have bet more on myself!" Harry said desperately. "If I knew I had gotten my name in, I would have tried to make more money."

"Both your bets were winners," Fred said. "You just played the best odds."

"No, listen," Harry said quickly. "Assume the worst of me. Assume that I put my name in and lied to you. Even if you think that, you have to realize that my name came out _in addition_ to Diggory's, not instead of Diggory's." Harry had been saying this quite a lot in the last twelve hours. It might be funny, if he weren't pleading so desperately. "If I knew that my name was coming out as the fourth champion, there would have been no reason to bet on Diggory at all—only myself, because it was guaranteed. The only way it makes sense for me to place both bets is if I didn't know that my name was coming out as a fourth champion. Which is the truth, by the way."

Fred and George glanced at one another.

"It makes sense," George said, lowering his wand.

"Or maybe it's all a cleverly planned alibi," Fred said. "The perfect cover."

"Except that I knew you couldn't cover both bets," Harry said. "Why would I make a bet that I knew wouldn't pay out?"

Finally, Fred lowered his wand, as well. "Damn. And I was hoping to let loose some frustration. And it doesn't deliver us from our present predicament." Fred turned back to George. "Let me look at the parchment again."

George raised the parchment, and he and Fred bent over it once more. Harry let out an enormous sigh of relief and slumped against the wall.

"No matter what, we lose money," George said. "We should pay off the Diggory bets first, and use the rest to make a down payment on the Potter bets. The Creeveys won't care, and Harry's an agreeable bloke."

"You guys were just threatening to beat me up!" Harry blurted.

"Were we wrong when we stopped?" Fred asked. He gave Harry a hard look out of the corner of his eye.

"We could start again," George said.

Harry took a quick step back. "Oh, no, installments are fine."

"Good," said George. "I think this is the only reasonable plan."

"It also sets us back for years!" Fred said. "There has to be something we're missing."

"There isn't," said George. "My numbers are right."

"What are you being set back from?" Harry asked.

"Opening our joke shop," the twins said in unison.

"You're raising money for a business?" Harry asked.

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," Fred said. It was clear who had chosen the name.

"We need funds to start research and development," said George.

"Upon graduation, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes will wow the wizarding world with a wondrous assortment of amusements and entertainments," said Fred.

"If we can find the money," George said, glancing back at the ledger.

Harry was suddenly inspired. The Weasley twins were remarkably capable when they were motivated by something they cared about. To date, however, Harry had only identified three things that the twins cared about: family, quidditch and jokes. Because their business plan involved both family and jokes, some of which would presumably be based upon quidditch, Harry felt that they had a high chance of success.

"Gentlemen," Harry said, "I have a business proposition for you."

George glanced up from the parchment. "Go on."

"I propose to set off my winnings in the Tri-Wizard pool against a one-third share of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. You will not be required to pay me for either of my bets, and you will retain a majority vote for all business actions. In exchange, I will receive one-third of net profits."

"Hold on," said George. He pulled a quill from his pocket and started scrawling on the parchment. As he calculated, George's lips moved and he mumbled under his breath. "Okay. First, your winnings will buy you a ten percent share, and ten percent of net profits. Second, we need an initial capital contribution of one hundred galleons so that we can immediately start research and development." They were the two longest sentences that Harry had ever heard George say aloud.

"Twenty percent share, twenty percent of net profits, and one hundred twenty-five galleons as an initial contribution," Harry countered.

"Deal." George stuck out his hand.

"Don't I get a say in this?" asked Fred.

"Of course," said George as he shook Harry's hand. "You get to say 'yes.'"

Fred grinned. "Splendid! Yes!" Fred reached out and shook Harry's hand, as well.

"Now that I'm a partner, how do our books look?" Harry asked.

George spun the parchment around. "With your setoff and hundred twenty-five galleons, we can cover all the bets immediately, and still have fifty galleons left over for supplies."

"Excellent. Glad to do business with you, gentlemen. Keep me apprised of any research breakthroughs." Harry looked up from the parchment. "Now, I have to get to class." Harry waved and squeezed past the redheads, walking quickly toward the end of the passage.

Harry barely made it to Arithmancy on time. Hermione gave him a look of disapproval as he slid into the seat next to her. Harry shrugged and smiled. He was barely on time, but he certainly wasn't late.

During a break in note-taking, Harry reached over to Hermione's parchment. _Meet me in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom at eight o'clock,_ Harry wrote.

_Why?_ Hermione wrote back.

Harry ignored her question. Tonight, Harry was going to have a very interesting discussion with his closest friends, and he certainly wasn't going to put the information down on paper.

* * *

**A/N:** _Short-ish chapter this week. Next week's clocks in at 4k, though, so don't worry too much. One of my reviewers asked when this story would finish. I anticipate that Tri-Wizard Tournament will come to an end some time in April 2014. 36 chapters, 25 left to go, and the occasional bonus chapter should put us at a little less than six months. Afterwards, we'll have Harry Potter and the Army of Hogwarts (tentative title) and that should last us a good 10 to 12 months._


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** _Remember the teaser from the end of _Dementors of Azkaban_? Well, that's in this chapter! Finally resolved!_

* * *

Harry was both excited about and scared of the meeting with his friends. On one hand, he wanted to tell them about defeating Voldemort (twice) and about Sirius Black. It would be nice to be able to speak honestly with everybody, instead of constantly keeping secrets. And Harry had to admit, what he had done was pretty amazing; he was looking forward to receiving some recognition for his accomplishments from his friends. Harry couldn't help grinning when he imagined the look on Draco's face after he found out that Harry had become the Heir of Slytherin.

But even that was secondary to the reaction Harry anticipated from Hermione. What could be more impressive to a pretty Gryffindor girl than hearing that Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort twice in his first two years at Hogwarts? Combined with their adventure through time at the end of last year… Harry wasn't sure what would come of his revelations, but he had the feeling that it would be rather good. Harry discovered that he was suddenly interested in upcoming dates for Hogsmeade weekends.

Harry, Draco and Tracey walked to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom together. When they arrived, Hermione was waiting for them, seated on the ledge in front of the frosted window. She seemed to be having a rather cheerful conversation with Myrtle. Or, at least, Hermione's end seemed to be cheerful. Myrtle, for her part, was moaning.

"Could you give us some privacy?" Harry asked Myrtle when he entered the bathroom.

"Go flush yourself," Myrtle said. She made a rude gesture, then dove into the nearest toilet.

"What's Granger doing here?" Draco asked. "You said we needed to have a meeting about the tournament."

"We do," Harry said. "I spoke with Snape this morning. He told me that I need help if I want to survive the tournament, but I won't be getting it from him or any other teacher. Crouch is going to be watching me like a hawk."

"And I still haven't heard why Granger is here," Draco said.

"Actually, I was wondering the same thing about you," Hermione said. "Harry obviously wants help, and I'm best in our year. It's rather clear why _I'm_ here."

Draco scowled. Before he could say snap back at Hermione, Harry intervened.

"I do want help," Harry said. "You three are my best friends, and if we all work together, I just might survive this. But I need us to be a team."

"I'll stop if he stops," Hermione said, after a moment.

Draco rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air. "Fine, whatever."

"Thank you," Harry said. "Okay. First thing. Everything that we do and say in these meetings has to be absolutely secret. If the other champions find out my plans, they might be able to use it against me. And, more importantly… I think somebody's trying to kill me." Harry quickly described Moody's conspiracy theory.

Draco scoffed. "Moody's barmy."

"Maybe, but Snape agrees with him," Harry said.

"Well…" Draco respected Snape quite a lot. "Sometimes even a noseless niffler finds a coin, I guess."

"Harry, you do realize who your chief suspect is, right?" Hermione asked. Harry noticed that she didn't mention Pettigrew's name; Hermione was protecting Harry's secrets. Harry wasn't afraid, however. He was planning to tell his friends everything.

"Yes, Pettigrew's name came to mind," Harry said. "Here's how I think he did it."

He summarized his personal theory about how his name had come out of the Goblet, including the extra dangers that Snape had noticed. "Here's the bottom line: if our plans get out, Pettigrew might not wait for the tournament to kill me. He might decide to take a more active role to ensure my death. So, everything stays secret."

"Pettigrew? Why is that name familiar?" Tracey asked.

"I'm just about to get to that," Harry said. "Over the last three years, a lot of things have happened to me. Most of what I am about to tell you, Dumbledore has asked me to keep secret. I don't see the purpose behind that, not any longer. Secrets are no good to me if I'm dead, and surviving the tournament is my highest priority. If we're going to make the best possible plans to help me survive, then we all need to know everything. There's no telling what seemingly insignificant detail from my past might save my life."

Harry paused to gather his thoughts. Hermione and Tracey both had concerned looks on their faces. Draco, meanwhile, hopped up and sat on the edge of the nearest sink.

"Hurry up," Draco said. "The suspense is just KILLING me."

Harry smiled. Even at the worst of times, Draco could always brighten Harry's mood.

"Best to start at the beginning, I guess." Harry said. And with that, the words began to pour out of Harry like a cascade. It was such a relief to tell his friends everything that had happened. No more keeping track of which friend knew which secret, no more lying about what had happened and why. Harry told them everything, everything about Quirrel andVoldemort and the invisibility cloak and the Heir of Slytherin and the diary and the Marauder's Map and Sirius Black and Peter Petterigrew. The only detail that Harry left out was the source of Tom Riddle's diary, and nobody thought to ask.

Hermione had initially been taking notes of what Harry said, but as Harry's story reached the middle of his second year, she put her quill and notebook away. None of Harry's friends said a word during his story, for which Harry was grateful. If they had interrupted him every sentence or two, this meeting would have taken hours. Even so, as Harry's story wound to a close, he glanced and his watch and discovered that more than an hour had passed. Curfew was quickly approaching.

"That's about it," Harry said. It seemed like a bit of an anti-climax, after everything he had just described. "Then my name came out of the goblet and now we're here. Now you pretty much know it all."

The bathroom fell silent, except for the sound of intermittently dripping water. Harry looked at the faces of his friends, and was surprised to discover that Tracey was the only one who seemed at all surprised or excited. Both Draco and Hermione had carefully composed faces that gave no hint of their thoughts or emotions.

"What do we do now?" Tracey asked excitedly.

"I guess… we go to sleep," Harry said. "It's only five minutes until curfew."

"I didn't mean right now," Tracey said. "I meant, how do we start preparing for the tournament?"

"You should go to the library," Hermione said. Her words were clipped, as if she were restraining some sort of emotion. "Researching past tournaments is a good place to start."

Harry nodded. "Okay. Let's meet in the library tomorrow, an hour before dinner. For now, lets get back to our dormitories."

Hermione quickly packed her bag, and the four students stepped out of the bathroom. Tracey and Draco began walking toward Slytherin, but Harry hesitated. It would be no problem for Tracey and Draco to make it back to Slytherin before curfew, but there was no way that Hermione could get all the way across the castle to Gryffindor Tower in time.

"I'm going to walk Hermione back to Gryffindor," Harry said. "If we run into a prefect, we'll use the invisibility cloak." Part of Harry was actually hoping that they would run into a prefect; he wouldn't mind a few minutes with Hermione under the invisibility cloak.

Draco shrugged and turned away. "Whatever."

Tracey waved and smiled. "See you in a few minutes!"

As Harry and Hermione set off for Gryffindor tower, Harry removed the Marauder's Map from his cloak and activated it. He and Hermione were alone, and there weren't any prefects or teachers between them and Gryffindor tower. Harry would have plenty of time to get his invisibility cloak if somebody approached. It was going to be an easy walk.

As Harry and Hermione walked along the corridor, Harry was struck by his friend's silence. Hermione wasn't a chatterbox like Pansy, but she usually had something to say. Combined with the strange sound of her voice in the bathroom, and her complete lack of reaction to Harry's story, Harry was completely befuddled. Nevertheless, Harry was content to stay quiet—the chiming of distant clocks told him that curfew had finally passed. There was no need to draw attention to themselves, and voices sometimes did strange things in the halls of Hogwarts.

As Hermione and Harry walked up a staircase, automatically hopping over the disappearing trick step, Harry glanced over and saw that Hermione was clearly struggling to keep… some sort of expression off her face. Hermione was screwing her mouth back and forth, as if her closed lips were literally holding back words. Her eyes stared straight ahead, rejecting possible distractions. Her attention was turned completely inward. Hermione was definitely thinking about something.

Harry always found Hermione was attractive when she was using her intelligence to logically work through some sort of problem, and tonight was no exception. As Hermione absentmindedly moved her mouth, her nose wiggled slightly, a fact that Harry found exceedingly cute. When she finally set her jaw in place, her face was thrown into sharp relief. Her eyes flashed with intensity. Even her unruly hair could not hide the fact that she was an attractive young witch. Not that Harry would ever say such a thing out loud, of course. Especially not to Draco, and _especially_ not to Hermione.

That being said, Harry was finding it difficult not to stare. He settled for glancing at Hermione, then looking ahead, then glancing back.

Harry and Hermione reached Gryffindor Tower without incident. No prefect or teacher would patrol this close to the common room, either; only a truly unusual situation would catch their attention. Hermione stepped forward to give the Fat Lady her password, but hesitated. She turned to Harry, an uncertain expression on her face.

Harry finally spoke, quietly. "You know, this reminds me of the last time I walked you back to Gryffindor Tower," Harry said. "Remember, after you snuck into my common room-"

Hermione grabbed Harry by the front of his cloak and pushed him backwards. Harry stumbled a little, then caught his balance when his back struck the wall. Hermione moved close, and as Harry glanced around he realized that she had concealed the two of them behind a suit of armor.

Harry wasn't sure what was happening, but in part of his mind it sounded as if bells were ringing. It was like he had just won a prize. Harry had heard that girls in Gryffindor were a bit more… aggressive… than girls from other houses, but he hadn't exactly been sure what that would mean. He had a feeling he was about to find out—apparently, Hermione had been more impressed by his stories than she had let on. Harry wondered how quickly he could get them both under his invisibility cloak, and how close the nearest secret passage was.

Hermione pulled down on Harry's cloak, drawing him forward until their faces were almost touching. She looked directly into Harry's eyes and slowly parted her lips. Harry closed his eyes slightly. This was it.

"Where the HELL do you get off, not telling me that you've been the Heir of SLYTHERIN for the past YEAR!" Hermione spoke through clenched teeth, punctuating her words by jerking Harry's robes and shaking him.

"I- er- I mean-"

"Did you forget that I was petrified for WEEKS? I missed EXAMS!"

Harry glanced around nervously. Hermione was making quite a lot of noise—enough to attract the attention of teachers or prefects who would otherwise avoid this hallway. "Hermione, quiet down."

Harry grabbed Hermione's wrists to stop her from yanking on his cloak. Hermione released her grip and immediately ripped her hands away from Harry.

"I will not be quiet! Don't you see why this is a problem?" Hermione stamped her foot and clenched her hands at her sides. "Didn't it ever occur to you to tell me this before now?"

"Hermione, it's just a title. It doesn't mean anything." Harry really wished that Hermione would be quiet.

"Just a title? What if Churchill had declared himself Fuehrer after Berlin fell during World War Two? Do you think anybody would have had a problem with it?"

"I think it's a little overdramatic to compare me to Hitler!" Harry was stage whispering—he was angry, but he wasn't about to shout in the corridor.

"Is it really? Your patronus is a _basilisk_, Harry!"

"So what!"

"_I was petrified by a basilisk!_" Hermione was not exercising quite as much restraint; her voice was getting louder by the moment.

"I wasn't the one who petrified you!"

"Then why didn't you _tell _me?"

Before Harry could reply, he heard footsteps and distant voices at the end of the corridor. He glanced at the still-active Marauder's Map and saw that Cedric Diggory was moving toward them, along with another dot whose name Harry didn't recognize.

"Shh," Harry said.

"Don't shush me!"

Harry tucked the map into his cloak and removed his invisibility cloak, unfurling it with a flourish. "Be quiet and stand still."

"I will not be-"

Harry swept the invisibility cloak up and around the two of them. They fit underneath it—barely. Hermione tried to continue speaking, but Harry put a hand over her mouth. Diggory had just rounded the corner, accompanied by a younger boy dressed in Hufflepuff colors and wearing a prefect's badge. Under the invisibility cloak, Hermione began to struggle. Harry raised a finger to his lips.

"I was sure I heard voices," said the younger Hufflepuff.

"It was probably just the portraits," said Diggory. "And even if it wasn't, whoever it was is already back in the Gryffindor common room."

Hermione stopped moving as the prefects' conversation reached her ears. She didn't want to be caught out after curfew any more than Harry did. Probably less, given her hard-earned reputation as a rule-abiding student. This, however, did not prevent Hermione from glaring hatefully at Harry over the top of his hand.

When Harry felt sure that Hermione wasn't going to give them away, he removed his hand. Hermione's lips were pinched into a tight line, and her glare did not weaken.

"You there!" The younger prefect was addressing the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Has anyone been in this hallway recently?"  
The Fat Lady drew back and raised a hand to her collarbone. "Young man, I am appalled! I am a lady, and a work of art. How dare you address me as if I were some common stick figure?!"

The younger Hufflepuff opened his mouth to reply, but Diggory put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry for my friend's rudeness," Diggory said. "What he meant to say, my lady, is that we would be grateful for any assistance you might give us. We heard voices, and thought that there might be students in the hallway after curfew." Diggory smiled warmly at the portrait, and the Fat Lady blushed.

"Thank you for the apology. It is nice to know that some people still have manners in this world." The Fat Lady paused and looked at the younger prefect. "As for students out after curfew… nobody has entered or left the Gryffindor common room. And if they were still in the hallway, well, you could see them as easily as I could."

Diggory lowered his head in a small bow. "Thank you, dear lady."

"_You_ are very welcome," said the Fat Lady with a smile.

As Diggory and the younger prefect walked away, Harry could hear Diggory speaking in a calm tone. "You might be a prefect, but that doesn't make you better than anybody else. The more you treat people with respect, the more respect they'll give you back…"

When the two Hufflepuffs had moved around the corner, Harry removed the invisibility cloak. "Thanks," he said to the Fat Lady.

"I didn't do it for you," the Fat Lady said haughtily. "I did it for Ms. Granger."

Harry turned back to Hermione. She had not moved—she continued to glare at him.

"Do you trust me?" Hermione said. It was half question, half accusation.

"Of course I trust you," Harry said. "I just told you all my biggest secrets, didn't I?"  
"Telling me under threat of imminent death isn't a difficult choice, Harry. 'Should I tell Hermione, or should I let myself get killed in front of the entire school?'"

Harry threw his arms up in the air. "What exactly do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me why you kept it a secret that you were the Heir!"

"Dumbledore wanted me to keep it a secret," Harry said, exasperated. A true statement, but not necessarily the answer to Hermione's question.  
"You told Tracey before tonight," Hermione said.

"No I didn't," Harry lied.

"Yes, you did," Hermione said. "She practically worships you, Harry, but she hardly reacted at all when you said that you were the Heir. When you told us what happened first year, she was so excited she could barely stand still. She was the same way when you told her about Sirius Black. But the Heir of Slytherin? The one she should have been most excited about? She didn't say a word."

Harry opened his mouth to deny Hermione's accusation, but paused when she held up her hand.

"Harry, if you lie to me right now, you can count me out for the tournament. We're done."

Harry said nothing. The silence stretched out for a long moment.

"Okay, then," said Hermione. "When did you tell Tracey?"

"Last year."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted her to trust me."

"So you trust her more than me?" Hermione said. She sounded hurt, and surprised, as if she hadn't realized how much she wanted Harry's trust.

"You heard me wrong," Harry said, shaking his head. "It wasn't because I trusted Tracey. It was because I wanted Tracey to trust me." Harry ran his hand through his hair, brushing it back from his face. "You're braver than Tracey is. You don't need the reassurance that she needs. I mean, do you know that feeling when somebody is unexpectedly nice to you, but you're sure that they're just setting you up so that they can do something mean?"

Hermione nodded. A muggle-born as smart as Hermione? Of course she knew.

"That's how Tracey goes through life," Harry said. "She's really insecure about herself. She can't believe that anybody would actually _like_ her, so she's always defensive, waiting for the other shoe to drop. If I was going to convince her that I actually wanted to be her friend, I needed to tell her something so important that it would be obvious that I wasn't setting her up."

"Why bother?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "She had always been nice to me. She helped me out during first year, when I still didn't understand wizarding society. She defended me when the whole school thought I was petrifying people. And she looked like she needed a friend."

Hermione looked down at her feet. When she looked up, most of the anger seemed to be gone from her face. "So you told Tracey. But if you were willing to ignore Dumbledore and tell her, why didn't you tell me?"

"Wait… Are you jealous?"

"Harry Potter!" Hermione's anger was back just as quickly as it had gone. "I am _not_ jealous. Over the course of our friendship, you've lied to me, you've hidden things from me, and you've let your friends call me slurs without saying a word of protest. I think I deserve some answers!"

Harry sighed and leaned back against the wall. This was exhausting. "Why _should_ I have told you, anyway? Because you had been petrified? Because Ginny was attacked, and Ron's your best friend? Because you're my friend? Because the Heir of Slytherin is a title that carries a lot of negative baggage?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, that about covers it."

"Those are the exact reasons that I DIDN'T tell you, Hermione!"

There was a long pause before Hermione responded.

"Are we friends?" Hermione asked suddenly. She was no longer shouting.

"Yes, of course," Harry said.

"Then why do you keep lying to me?"

"Because I didn't think you'd want to be friends with the Heir of Slytherin, that's why!" Harry threw his hands into the air. "Obviously, I was right!"

Hermione raised her hands and started rubbing her temples. "Harry Potter, you make me angrier than anybody I know." She sounded thoroughly annoyed. "Well, anybody except for Ron. But Ron tells me the truth, and when he does something wrong, he apologizes. Eventually."

"Well, I'm sorry," Harry snapped.

"Are you? Really?"

"Yes," Harry said, voice full of exasperation. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I kept quiet because I _didn't _want to hurt you."

"Harry, the knowledge that you're the Heir of Slytherin is the smallest part of why I'm upset." Hermione's voice had returned to her normal, near-lecturing tone. "For the most part, I'm upset about the lying and the concealing. You shouldn't feel like you need to hide things from me. And you definitely shouldn't _actually_ hide things from me. If we're going to be friends, you need to be honest with me. You have to be brave enough to do that. It's the cost of being friends with a Gryffindor."

"The cost of being friends with a Gryffindor, huh?" Harry grinned a little. "Fine, but you owe me something in return."

"This isn't a contract negotiation. This is about friendship."

"Call it the cost of being friends with a Slytherin, then," Harry said. "You have to understand that I have a reputation to live up to. Maybe in Gryffindor you can be 'the smart one' and get by with that, but it's different for me. I have a social persona. The person I am when I'm in public isn't the same as the person I am when we're talking one-on-one. I can't just put myself out there for the whole world to see."

Hermione frowned. "That's not right. You shouldn't hide who you are."

"Everybody does it, Hermione. Are you the same person with your parents that you are with your friends? If you met the queen, wouldn't you act differently than if you were meeting a first year Gryffindor?"  
"That's not the same."

"Yes, it is," Harry insisted.

"Well… I don't like it," Hermione said.

"I'm not saying that I won't be honest with you. I will. No games. From now on, Hermione Granger gets the real Harry Potter. But you can't complain if I keep something back from the rest of the world."

"I guess that's fair," Hermione said reluctantly.

"So… friends?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "You're exhausting, Harry. Right now, I just want to go to sleep." Hermione walked over to the portrait of the Fat Lady. She paused and turned back to Harry. "Actually, there's one more thing, and it's been bothering me all summer. Those spells you were casting last year, when we used the time turner… where'd you learn those?"

"Professor Lupin taught me how to cast the patronus charm," Harry said.

Hermione gave him a sharp look. "You know that's not what I mean. I'm talking about the incendiary curse."

Harry shrugged. "I dunno, you pick things up here and there."

"Harry…" Hermione dragged his name out, warningly.

"Right, fine. Draco got me a book of curses as a Christmas present last year."

"Book of curses? As a _Christmas present_? What is wrong with you Slytherins?"

"Look who's talking! You used fire to scare away the Devil's Snare our first year!"

"That was foxfire, Harry. It couldn't roast a marshmallow." Hermione folded her arms across her chest and glared at Harry accusingly.

"So I have a book of curses," Harry said. "What's the big deal? I'm sure you were paying attention to Moody's lecture at the start of the year. It's not the spell that's dark, it's the way it's used. And right now, I have a dark wizard trying to kill me, so maybe it's a good thing that I can defend myself."

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "You know, at some point, we're going to have a big row that ends our friendship."

"Was that tonight?" Harry asked.

"I don't know." Hermione shrugged. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed. Good night, Harry."

"Good night."

Harry waited until the portrait had closed behind Hermione before he pulled on his invisibility cloak and began the long walk back to the dungeons. When he arrived, Draco was waiting for him.

"We need to talk," Draco said. "Now."

* * *

**A/N: **_So, a lot of you are probably furious with me right now. That's okay. I promise that there will be romance before the end of this book. Kissy times are on the horizon._


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** _So, the last fanfic that I read (in a massive archive binge) was _Delenda Est _by Lord Silvere. I liked it quite a bit, and I went through 400,000 words in a matter of a few days. I wouldn't rate it a 10/10, because I wasn't sure about some characterization, but it's easily an 8/10. If you like fics that take characters who were flat villains in canon and turn them into round protagonists, you'll probably enjoy it. (Since you're reading this story, that's a pretty safe bet to make.) Also featuring time travel._

* * *

Draco dragged Harry back to their dormitory. The only people in the dormitory were Crabbe and Goyle, playing a game of Exploding Snap.

"You two," Draco said. "Get out of here. Harry and I have to talk."

"But I'm about to win," Goyle whined.

"No you aren't," said Crabbe. He laid a card, and Goyle's cards exploded in a cloud of purple smoke.

"You heard Draco," Harry said. His patience had long since worn thin. "Buzz off. Now."

The two large boys collected their cards and left. Draco locked the door behind them.

"Alright. What is it?" Harry asked.

"You actually are the Heir of Slytherin. You can control basilisks. You have access to the Chamber of Secrets. And you've defeated the Dark Lord _twice _since we've been in school. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ANY OF THIS?"

"Dumbledore asked me to keep it a secret," Harry said. Hadn't he just had this conversation with Hermione?

"Dumbledore's daft, you can't listen to him!" Draco yelled. "I can't believe you didn't tell me this before. Just think of the possibilities! We could have been living like kings for the last three years!"

"We haven't, already?"

"Not like we could have been. We still would have been the most important people in Slytherin, even after you got grounded last year."

Harry frowned. Thinking about his grounding was not a pleasant memory. "Draco, this isn't something I want to advertise."

"You never use your fame the way you should, so it's a good thing you finally told me about this. With this sort of news, everybody will be clamoring to be seen _sitting near you_, let alone actually talking to you! Not even Daphne Greengrass will be able to make her sarcastic little comments about this. This is…"

"DRACO!"

"What?"

"We aren't telling anybody. Secret, remember?"

Draco gave Harry perplexed look, then waved his hand dismissively. "This is different. This isn't tactics or anything. It's just _awesome_!"

"It's nothing special, Draco. It's just a title. There are no secret benefits. I just did what I had to do in order to survive a basilisk attack."

"There _are_ benefits, Harry. You've just been too thick to look for them!" Draco extended an open hand toward Harry, palm up. "Give me a week. I'll keep it quiet that you're the Heir. I'll only tell people that I know will be discrete. Seven days from now, you'll be treated like a different person, and you'll love it."

"Draco…"

"If you don't like it, I'll stop." Draco grinned. "But I know you'll like it."

"No way." Harry ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. "This stays secret."

Draco threw his arms in the air. "You're completely hopeless. Do you know what I'd be doing if I was the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Yeah, I can guess."

"Don't make it sound like a bad thing." Draco sat on the edge of his bed. "I'd be putting my title to good use. You're wasting one of the all-time most important titles ever to exist in the history of magic!"

"I did put the title to good use," Harry replied. "I saved my life, and Ginny's, and defeated Voldemort. Is there a better use?"

"Well, no. But there are MORE uses, and you're ignoring them."

"We keep it a secret, and that's final."

"Augh, fine," Draco said, dramatically flopping backwards onto his bed. "At least let me tell my father. He'll be fascinated to know about this, and he'll find some way to make this work for the two of us, even if we have to keep it a secret."

Harry felt very uneasy about the idea of Lucius Malfoy knowing that Harry had claimed the title of Heir of Slytherin. Something that Dumbledore had said at the end of last year—it wasn't wrong to give Mr. Malfoy a second chance at leading a normal life, but no good could come of presenting him with temptation.

"I'd rather not tell your dad, either," Harry said. "The only way to 'make this work for the two of us' is to tell people about it, and I just don't want people to know."

Draco stared at Harry, incredulous. "You're killing me. It's like you're actually stabbing my social standing with a knife."

"There'll be enough glory for both of us in the tournament," Harry said.

"Fine, whatever." Draco shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to keep this a secret. You realize that I wouldn't do this for anybody else in the world, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said.

"Anyone else in Slytherin, and I'd just go out and tell people and damn the consequences." Draco shook his head again. "Really, it's a good thing you're my friend. If you weren't, I'd hate you for wasting something like this. I mean that literally: I would loathe you."

"I'm glad you're on my side, then," Harry said, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. Between his two lengthy discussions with Hermione and Draco, it had gotten past midnight. "I need to get to sleep," Harry said. "I was up early to talk to Snape, and I'm exhausted."

"Who can sleep after this?" Draco asked. He was still fairly bouncing with energy.

"Me," Harry said. He had lived with this for the last year and a half. The novelty had long since worn off.

"Fine, sleep," Draco teased. "Tomorrow, you're taking me down to the Chamber."

"Absolutely not," Harry said.

"Come ON! If you won't let me tell everyone you're the Heir, you at least owe me that much!"

"The Chamber is a horrible place, and the last time I needed Dumbledore's phoenix to fly me out. Do you want to explain to Dumbledore why the two of us were poking around in the Chamber of Secrets? Or, even worse, do you want to explain it to Barty Crouch?"

"You never let me do anything fun," Draco said.

Harry opened his trunk and pulled out his pajamas. "Sleep is fun," Harry said. "Try sleep."

Draco laughed and went to unlock the door to the dormitory. Crabbe, Goyle, Theo and Blaise entered immediately, all looking very unhappy. While Draco and Harry had talked, the entire common room had cleared out, leaving the fourth year boys alone and bored. Neither Harry nor Draco apologized—apology was a sign of weakness, and everybody would forget this by tomorrow morning.

That night, Harry slept poorly. He had the most awful nightmare about a snake creeping through an abandoned house, and all the while the distorted and discordant sound of a half-wound music box plinked away in the background. The sound was familiar, as if from some half-forgotten lullaby.

When Harry awoke, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he did not feel rested in the least.

*!*!*

The next evening, Harry made sure to arrive at the library ten minutes early. He wanted to have some books selected before anybody else arrived. If he was going to ask for his friends' help, he needed to show that he was willing to help himself.

As Harry walked toward the back of the library, he saw that Hermione was already seated at their usual table, surrounded by several open books. She had half a foot of parchment covered in neatly scripted notes, with dramatic bullet points on the left margin.

Harry sat down across from her. "So… friends?"

Hermione looked up and smiled, just a little. "Friends."

"What made up your mind?" Harry asked.

"Two things. First, I can't turn you loose on the tournament with a book of curses and only the advice of two other Slytherins. Last night I kept imagining you using some sort of entrails-spewing curse or something equally awful on Fleur Delacoeur, just so you could gain an advantage in the standings."

Harry grinned. She was teasing. Well, mostly teasing. "What's the other?

"When you told Tracey that you were the Heir, it wasn't selfish. You were just trying to help somebody who needed a friend. You really are good at heart, Harry." Hermione looked into Harry's eyes. "But you won't get many more chances from me. At some point, your actions have to match your heart."

"Message received," Harry said.

Before Harry could say more, Tracey dropped into the seat next to Harry. She had all the energy of a small, blonde tornado. "What are you two working on? Was I supposed to be here already? I'm sorry. Did you find anything good?"

Harry put an arm on Tracey's shoulder. "Calm down. When Draco gets here, we'll all get started."

Tracey hopped out of the chair. "I can't wait. I'm going to go get some more books!" She was off into the stacks like a shot.

"She's a good friend," Harry said, looking after her.

"Friend?" Hermione asked.

"Yes?" Harry wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"Mmm." Hermione made a noncommittal noise and returned to the book she was reading.

"What?" Harry asked. Hermione refused to answer.

*!*!*

Being a Tri-Wizard Champion turned out to be challenging in ways that Harry hadn't anticipated. It became difficult to study in the library; students would flock to the tables that surrounded Harry's, constantly whispering and glancing at the youngest champion. The other students' whispers would quickly turn to murmurs, and would build relentlessly in volume until there was outright talking in the library.

At the end of the first week of studying, Madam Pince approached Harry.

"Mr. Potter," she said, "I am afraid that I must ask you to leave the library."

Harry looked up from his book, surprised. "Why?"

"You are driving the other students to distraction," Madam Pince said. "It has become clear that no studying will be accomplished if you are present."

"_I'm_ distracting _them_?" Harry asked, incredulous. "All I've done is read quietly all week! They're the ones who are talking!"

"Talking about you," said Madam Pince. "You couldn't be more of a distraction if you were setting off fireworks. Please pack your things. You may return during your evening free time."

"But that's only a half-hour before curfew. I'll never get any work done!"

"The decision has been made, Mr. Potter. Please pack your things."

Harry was devastated—without the ability to research the tournament, he was certainly doomed. He scowled at the students around him as he crammed his parchment and quill into his bag.

"Don't worry, Harry," Tracey said. "We'll keep reading. We're bound to find something."

"Twenty-five percent less likely," Harry muttered.

"Don't worry, mate," Draco said. "Why don't we take this time to practice spells? We'll make sure that your entrails-spewing curse is up to snuff." Harry had told Draco about Hermione's comment, and Draco had been rather offended—does Granger _want _you to lose the tournament, Harry?

Hermione made a face at Draco, and Draco sneered right back.

"Not today," Harry said. As important as spell practice would be, Harry felt that it would be useless without some idea of what the first task would entail. "I'm going to go take a nap. We'll practice spells tomorrow."

The social aspect of being a champion was surprisingly frustrating, as well. Harry had somewhat assumed that he would be lauded in Slytherin and tolerated by everybody else. Instead, the rest of the school seemed to rally around Cedric Diggory. Harry found himself receiving familiar glares and stares in the hallway. It was like second year all over again. The other students hadn't become aggressive, but if something bad happened to Cedric during one of the tasks, Harry didn't have high hopes.

Harry understood why the whole school liked Cedric. It was hard for Harry not to like Cedric, himself. Diggory was tall, good looking, and impossibly nice. He seemed to know everybody. Not just their names, but what they were interested in and who their friends were. Diggory was constantly smiling and laughing, and he always seemed to be surrounded by a large group of people. All the social things that were so challenging to Harry came naturally to Cedric.

In short, Harry disliked Cedric because Cedric was too likeable. And the rest of the school disliked Harry because Harry wasn't Cedric.

In the middle of November, as Harry was on his way to morning Herbology with Tracey, Harry noticed a change in the hallways. Gone were the sneers and jeers that he had been regularly receiving. Instead, people were pointing to the large badges on their cloaks. The badges read, "SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY – THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION." When they were pressed with a finger, the badge changed to read, "POTTER STINKS." They were most frequently worn by Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, but Harry saw a surprising number of them being worn by Ravenclaws. Ravenclaw had always been closer to Slytherin that the other houses, and Harry had hoped for a measure of neutrality from them, but apparently the Ravenclaw appreciation for cunning would only stretch so far.

As Harry and Tracey passed the Great Hall, they walked past Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. All three were wearing "Support Cedric Diggory" badges, but Ron's already displayed the "Potter Stinks" message. Before Harry and Tracey could pass by, Finnigan and Thomas stepped in their way. Both of them were sporting enormous grins.

"Potter, take a look at this!" said Thomas, pointing at Finnigan's badge.

"I didn't know that you fancied Cedric Diggory so much," Harry said. "You know that he's seeing Cho Chang, right?"

Thomas pressed Finnigan's badge, and then his own. The badges switched from "Support Cedric Diggory" to "Potter Stinks."

"Isn't that a riot?" Thomas asked. "And it's so true!"

"Wow," Tracey said flatly. "We certainly haven't seen that a dozen times already this morning."

"You see what it does?" Finnigan asked, knowing full well that Harry had seen. "When you press the badge, it says 'Support Cedric Diggory,' because he's the _real_ Hogwarts champion. And when you press the badge again, it says 'Potter Stinks,' because… well… you stink!"

"How droll," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Why don't you write to your mother and tell her how funny you are? Then again, she might not be able to read it; she's probably too far into the bottle at this time of morning." Harry knew that taking a shot at Finnigan's Irish ancestry was a low blow, but Finnigan and Thomas had started this whole altercation.

Finnigan clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. "Don't talk about my mum that way," he snapped.

"So, because I called your mom a drunk, you're going to fight me? That's not the way to dispel hurtful stereotypes about the Irish, Finnigan."

Finnigan began to turn red in the face. "Say something else, Potter, and I'll make you regret it."

Harry heard a rustle of cloth behind him as Tracey reached into her robes and grabbed her wand. Harry hadn't planned on dueling in the hallways before class, and Harry and Tracey were outnumbered, but sometimes you had to stand up for yourself.

Ron stepped forward and draped his arms across Finnigan and Thomas's shoulders. "Harry, come on. I think what these gentlemen are saying is that you actually, physically smell. They're not judging you. They're just saying that things get rather musty down in the dungeons. Perhaps you could use a bath more frequently, right, mate?"

Tracey stepped forward, ready to hex the Gryffindors, but Harry put a hand on her arm. The weight of Ron's arms on Thomas and Finnigan's shoulders was restricting their arm movement and preventing the Gryffindors from attacking Harry. And while Ron's words seemed mean, Harry knew from Ron's voice that Ron was just taking the mickey. In fact, that was probably the reason that Ron's badge was set to "POTTER STINKS." Ron _didn't _support Cedric Diggory, and the badge was just a way of teasing Harry.

"Is that all it is?" asked Harry, playing along with Ron. Harry raised his arm and sniffed under his sleeve. "Perhaps I have been letting Crabbe and Goyle hang around me too frequently…"

"That's the spirit," Ron said. "So why don't you do us all a favor and jump in the lake?"

Harry stifled a grin. Ron was actually being fairly clever. He had managed to defuse the near-fight, and his banter was nasty enough that Finnigan and Thomas wouldn't notice that Ron and Harry were actually enjoying themselves.

Tracey finally relaxed and released her wand. She pulled her hand from her pocket and took hold of Harry's elbow. "Let's go," she said. "If there's anything that stinks around here, it's Thomas's breath."

"Hey!" Thomas struggled to pull away from Ron, but Ron held on tight.

"You do need to brush your teeth more often, mate," Ron said. "One man to another."

Harry waited until they were out of earshot to pull away from Tracey. Harry felt Tracey hesitate before releasing his arm. He wasn't sure why—it wasn't like Harry was going to go back and pick a fight.

"Where did they get those badges?!" Harry asked.

"I don't think there's any way to figure it out, short of asking," Tracey said. "Anybody could have made them."

"That's really impressive charms work, though," Harry said. "I doubt that a bunch of fourth-year Gryffindors put that together."

"So they got them from someone else," Tracey said.

"But who? And how are they distributed so widely?"

"What does it matter, Harry?"

"A lot of time and money went into making those badges," Harry said. "Somebody doesn't like me much, and I want to know who it is!"

* * *

**A/N:** _Ah, Ron. Knows how to deal with blokes. It's girls that present a problem._

_In other news, bonus chapter goes up on Tuesday, to celebrate the one year anniversary of the series! Don't miss out!_


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** _Happy anniversary, readers! Many thanks to all the people who have reviewed, and special thanks to all the people who have reviewed multiple times, or review consistently. If you write, then you know the excitement of checking your email and seeing "Review: [Your Story Name]." It's about as exciting as an email can get._

_A few fun facts about this story..._

_There are 36 total chapters of this story, so we are officially 1/3 of the way through._

_Currently, _TWT_ has more words in it than all of _HoS. _Book Five is going to be even larger. Everybody should have seen this coming.__  
_

_Yule Ball will take place at approximately Christmas. What timing! You might even get a bonus chapter to make the story coincide more closely with the holiday._

_Enjoy your Tuesday update. I'll see you again on Friday._

* * *

Harry and Tracey spent their Herbology period distilling stinksap from _Mumbulus Mimbletonia_. Stinksap was rather unique, in that it was not reactive with itself or with glass. If it touched any other surface, however, the stinksap would immediately emit a potent and horrific stench. The stinksap of a juvenile _Mumbulus Mimbletonia_ could be cleaned with a simple scouring charm, but stinksap from a mature adult plant was significantly more potent, and permanent. At the start of class, Professor Sprout warned the students not to get stinksap on themselves; Professor Snape's seventh year students would be brewing the stinksap cleaning solution later in the week, but it would be several days before the solution was ready for use.

The mysterious source of the badges proved horribly distracting to Harry, and he couldn't get the incident with Ron, Finnigan and Thomas out of his mind. After Harry broke two empty beakers in the first five minutes of class, Tracey insisted upon doing the greater part of the work, allowing Harry to grumble distractedly. Harry's only duty would be to pour the distilled stinksap into vials.

"I just don't get it," Harry said. "I can think of plenty of people who are clever enough to make the badges, and I can think of people who have money to burn, but the only people with both are in Slytherin. Nobody in Slytherin would have made the badges, so where did they come from?"

"Pay attention!" Tracey said sharply. Her patience with Harry seemed to be wearing thin.

Harry looked down—he had almost poured stinksap all over himself, which would have ruined his cloak forever. Stinksap could be washed off your body with cleaning solution, but once it was in your clothes, it was there for good. Harry moved his vial underneath the beaker and began to pour… carefully. "I can't figure it out," Harry said.

"Just ignore them," Tracey said. "It's jealousy."

"You can't ignore it," Harry said, placing a stopper into a vial of stinksap. He set the vial aside, then began to pour another. "It's so… obnoxious. I know that it's completely juvenile, but it's all I can think about."

"That's exactly what they want to do," Tracey said. "They want to distract you and make you feel bad. Don't let them win."

"I wish it was that easy," Harry said. He placed a stopper in another vial and set it aside. "How many of these do we need?"

"Two," Tracey said.

Harry looked down at the four full vials he had poured. "Oh. Do you think we'll get extra credit?"

"No," called Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house. Harry shouldn't have asked; the normally kind Professor Sprout had been standoffish ever since Harry's name had been announced in addition to Cedric's.

Harry frowned and picked up two of the vials. He walked toward the rubbish bin, preparing to throw them away. Just as he was about to drop the vials, he stopped. Stinksap was absolutely repugnant, and Professor Snape hadn't prepared the cleaning solution yet. If Harry could find out who made the "POTTER STINKS" badges, he could get some terrifically appropriate revenge.

Harry turned his back to Professor Sprout, concealing the vials from her view. Harry subtly tucked the vials into his cloak and then, with empty hands, made an impressive throwing motion at the bin. When Harry returned and sat back down next to Tracey, he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Why are you suddenly in a good mood?" Tracey asked.

"I'll tell you later," Harry said.

Harry expected that it would take days of detective work to determine the source of the badges, but he was wrong. The source of the badges was readily apparent when Harry arrived in the Great Hall for lunch. Students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were crowded around the Gryffindor table. Fred and George Weasley were standing on chairs, tossing "POTTER STINKS" badges into the crowd. Harry suddenly realized where his fifty galleons for supplies had gone.

When the Weasley twins made eye contact with Harry, the twins broke into identical large smiles. They continued tossing the badges into the crowd, grinning the whole time. Harry wasn't sure whether the badges were meant in good fun or not. On one hand, he had saved the Weasleys from financial ruin; on the other hand, Harry had caused their financial ruin in the first place, and had sort-of blackmailed them in order to save their business. If the twins didn't want an outsider to be part of the family business, the badges would be a perfect outlet for their resentment—not so flagrant that Harry would become enraged, but more than a mere annoyance.

Harry sat down at the Slytherin table and began to eat lunch. He couldn't just pour the stinksap on the Weasleys. If they meant the badges to be fun, then Harry couldn't respond with anger. But if they meant to provoke Harry with the badges, then Harry needed to demonstrate that he wouldn't allow himself to be pushed around.

Harry ignored Tracey's attempts to distract him with light conversation. He could feel a plan forming in the back of his mind.

Just before pudding, Harry settled on his course of action. He reached into his pocket and felt around for change. He had a galleon and a few sickles in his money pouch—hopefully it would be enough.

"I'll be right back," Harry said to Tracey. He stood and walked across the lunchroom, approaching the Weasley twins at the Gryffindor table. The crowd of students had dispersed, and the twins had finally settled down to eat.

"How much for the badges?" Harry asked the twins. The box of badges, still half full, sat between them on the table.

"Our beautiful badges are presently priceless," Fred said. In other words, they were giving them away for free, but not to Harry.

"But for you, three knuts," George said. Generally, George was the less loquacious of the two twins, but a better businessman.

Dammit. Just being around Fred was making Harry think in alliteration.

"Three knuts? I'll take them all." Harry pulled the galleon out of his pocket and set it on the table. It would more than cover the amount of badges in the box.

"I can't make change," George said slowly. He hadn't expected Harry to buy all the badges; without them, their fun was over.

Harry refused to be deterred by so simple a ploy, and pushed the galleon across the table. "Don't worry. Keep the change. It's all for a good cause, right?"

"Sure," said George, reluctantly. "I guess… they're all yours."

"Thanks," said Harry. He picked up the box and returned to the Slytherin table.

Harry took his seat next to Tracey. He removed a button and pinned it on his robe, setting it to "Support Cedric Diggory." He then transfigured his fork into a clothespin, the spring-loaded type that Petunia had always forced him to use on the washing. Harry tucked the clothespin into his pocket.

"Take a badge," Harry said to Tracey. "Put it on 'Support Cedric Diggory,' and pin it on your cloak."

"What are you doing?" asked Tracey. Tracey's question was asked out of curiosity rather than questioning Harry's judgment. Her trust in Harry was absolute; even as she spoke she was pinning her badge to her cloak.

"I'm teaching the Weasleys the real meaning of the word 'stink.'"

As the box of badges made its way around the Slytherin table, Harry saw that Cedric Diggory was standing up to leave the lunchroom. Diggory was followed closely by his typical entourage of Hufflepuffs.

As Cedric approached Harry's table, Harry leapt to his feet and climbed atop his bench. He began applauding as Cedric passed by.

"Yeah, Cedric!" Harry yelled as loudly and obnoxiously as possible. "Cedric's the REAL champion! Whoooo!"

Cedric abruptly stopped walking, stunned by Harry's display. The group of Hufflepuffs stopped as well, clearly confused.

Harry continued to cheer and clap, and motioned for Draco and Tracey to join him. His friends caught on quickly; they didn't know exactly what Harry was doing, but they knew he was doing _something_. Draco began applauding wildly, and urged the other Slytherins to follow. Soon, the whole table was applauding, Harry the loudest of them all. "Cedric is the best! Go, Cedric!"

Tracey, following Harry's lead, stepped up on the bench as well. "Cedric! You're so dreamy! Take me to Hogsmeade, Cedric! I think I love you!"

Cedric began to turn red in the face, and resumed walking toward the door of the lunchroom. The Slytherins continued to shout kind and supportive things at Cedric, which left Cedric's friends confused and frustrated; they knew that Cedric was the target of some kind of joke, but the Slytherins were being so _nice_ that the Hufflepuffs were unsure of how to respond.

As Cedric left the Great Hall, Harry pinned his clothespin on his nose and turned to Tracey. "Change your badge to 'Potter Stinks.' Pass it on."

Tracey complied, and soon the entire Slytherin table was sporting "Potter Stinks" badges.

"EEEW!" Harry shouted. "What is that smell! Is that ME?"

"You smell awful!" Tracey shouted, playing along. She pinched her nose.

Draco took up the cry next. "Harry, you smell worse than a troll!"

Soon, the entire Slytherin table was shouting catcalls at Harry. Harry raised his arms and acted as if he was sniffing his own armpits. The students on either side of him began to fan their hands, and Theo Nott acted as if he was fainting. Harry removed the clothespin from his pocket with a flourish and clamped it on his nose, an act which sent a ripple of laughter through his housemates.

Harry hopped down from the Slytherin table and began to walk toward the Gryffindors.

"Can you guys smell that?" Harry yelled toward the Gryffindor table. "Something stinks!"

For the most part, the Gryffindor table was stunned into silence, but Fred and George were laughing nervously. They realized that their prank on Harry had somehow spun out of their control, but they couldn't figure out where Harry was going with it.

Harry walked directly toward Fred and George, stopping between the two twins.

"Seriously, do you guys smell that?" Harry asked loudly. "Do I always smell this bad?"

Fred grinned. "Almost always," he said, equally as loud. Then, dropping his voice, "You are becoming a powerful prankster, Potter, bogarting our beauteous badges so blatantly."

"I learned from the best," Harry said. Harry reached around their shoulders and jerked them into a strong hug, crushing one twin against each side of his body. There was a small crunch from each of Harry's pockets, and Harry froze in that position, grinning from twin to twin. It took a moment, but soon the pungent smell of stinksap began to waft from the smashed vials that had been hidden inside the pockets of Harry's cloak.

As Fred and George got their first whiff of the wretched smell, they began to struggle to get away, but Harry held them fast. The smell was so strong that the twins quickly began to cough and dry heave. Harry, his nose held shut by a clothespin, began to cackle with laughter.

The stench of stinksap was enormously powerful. The Gryffindors closest to Harry and the twins began to hack and cough almost immediately, and the students just beyond them quickly followed. The coughing spread like a ripple through the students in the Great Hall, and soon students from all the houses were retching and gagging from the stench of fresh stinksap. Students in all houses were belatedly trying to pinch their noses shut, but once mature stinksap was smelled, it could not be un-smelled. The only solution was to evacuate the area.

The Slytherins were the first to recognize the solution, and charged _en masse_ for the door. They were followed closely by the other three houses, but even the large doors of the Great Hall would allow only a small portion of students to pass through at a time. Those who were unlucky enough to be caught at the rear of the crowd were coughing and gagging so much that their eyes had begun to water.

At the Gryffindor table, Fred stopped struggling and lurched forward to vomit on the table. Harry finally released the twins. Fred fell forward into his own puddle. George keeled over onto the floor and rolled around, holding his stomach.

The Great Hall was nearly vacant, now, as most of the students had forced themselves through the doors. As the Great Hall emptied of its last occupants, Harry ran after the crowd.

"Wait, guys! Wait! I don't smell that bad!"

Harry stopped at the doorway. Harry was alone, except for Fred and George. The twins were moaning piteously, unable to escape the stench of the stinksap that had soaked through Harry's robes and onto their own. Even the teachers had snuck out the back door, escaping into the room where Harry had met the other Tri-Wizard champions.

"Guys? Hello?" Harry grinned at the echoing sound of his voice.

Tracey appeared in the entranceway, pinching her nose shut. She appeared unaffected by the stinksap—it seemed as if she had anticipated Harry's actions, and had managed to avoid inhaling any of the odor.

"Nicely done, Harry," she said. Her voice was comically nasal, because of her pinched nose. "You realize those robes will have to be burned?"

"A small price to pay," Harry said.

"Agreed," said Tracey. She looked past Harry at the Weasley twins. "I'm going to get Madam Pomfrey. I think the Weasleys might need serious help."

Harry and the Weasley twins were quarantined in the Hospital Wing for the remainder of the day while Professor Snape brewed an emergency batch of stinksap cleaning solution. The stench of the stinksap had lessened, to the point that it was merely foul and no longer vomit-inducing. New clothing had been delivered by the Hogwarts house elves, and their old clothes had been taken away to be burned.

For the first few hours of quarantine, there was only a strained silence between Harry and the twins. Finally, it was Fred who spoke up.

"We were a wee bit aggressive with the badges," Fred said. "Sorry."

George nodded his agreement.

"Apology accepted," said Harry. "I'm sorry I made us all smell like a troll's arsehole."

"Apology accepted," the twins said in unison. With a quick shake of their hands, the three were restored to friendship. After all, what's one prank, more or less, between friends?

*!*!*!*!

When Professor Snape delivered the stinksap cleaning solution the next morning, he advised Harry that his antics had earned two weeks of detention. Harry suspected that the detentions were more for the inconvenience of brewing the emergency cleaning solution than for the stinksap attack itself. Certainly Snape understood the necessity of standing up to Gryffindors.

After Madam Pomfrey was certain that Harry and the twins had thoroughly cleansed themselves of stinksap, she released the students. The twins went directly to the Great Hall for breakfast. Before Harry could follow, Madam Pomfrey pulled him aside.

"Harry, I received a message from Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman. You are to report to the first classroom off the entrance hall for tournament business."

"Can't I get breakfast, first?"

"They message said 'immediately,'" Madam Pomfrey said. "I'm sure it won't take long."

Harry sighed and walked to the entrance hall. When he entered the classroom, he found that Krum, Diggory and Delacoeur were already present, as were Ludo Bagman and a bespectacled witch who was introduced to Harry as Rita Skeeter. Bagman told Harry that the wandmaker Ollivander would be arriving shortly to conduct the Weighing of the Wands (whatever that meant) and that Skeeter was present in order to take pictures and record the event for The Daily Prophet.

"You don't mind if I speak with Harry for a moment before Ollivander arrives?" Skeeter said to Bagman. She didn't seem to be interested in Bagman's answer—she had already grabbed Harry's arm and was steering him toward a door at the other end of the classroom.

"Not at all," Bagman said. "I'll be available afterwards, if you would like some more colorful quotes."

Skeeter did not reply. She pushed Harry through the door and closed the door behind them. Harry glanced around and discovered that they were in a broom cupboard.

"Wonderful," Skeeter said, even though the broom cupboard was anything but. She took a seat on an overturned bucket, and produced a green quill and a roll of parchment from her crocodile-skin handbag. "You won't object to the Quick-Quotes Quill, will you, Harry? That's a good boy." Skeeter spread the parchment atop a box of cleaning supplies. The quill hovered above the parchment, quivering in the air, poised to begin writing at any moment. "Now, Harry, what made you decide to enter the tournament?"

"I, er… I wanted to see if I could get past Dumbledore's age line. I spent most of the night trying."

The Quick-Quotes Quill flew across the page. _Harry Potter's well-known scar disfigures his otherwise charming face. The Boy-Who-Lived claims that he entered the tournament as a test of his own abilities, and that he was able to dispel the protective spells of Albus Dumbledore—widely regarded as the most powerful wizard alive—in less than twelve hours._

"That's not what I said," Harry said, pointing at the parchment.

"Ignore the quill," Skeeter said. "How do you feel about the tasks ahead? Excited? Scared?"

"Well, excited and scared," Harry said. "It's hard not to be. It's only been a few days, but it's all I can think about."

Harry glanced over at the parchment, where the Quill was writing furiously. _Potter's ambition is clear, despite his tender years. He is single-mindedly focused on the tournament, and says that he is excited about the upcoming tasks._

"Excited and scared," Harry said.

"Focus, Harry," Skeeter said. "Can you remember your parents at all?"

"What?"

"How do you think they would feel if they knew that you were competing in the tournament? Proud? Angry? Worried?"

The Quill was again writing on the parchment, even though Harry had made no response to Skeeter's questions. _Tears, brought on by the ghosts of Potter's past, fill his striking green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember._

"Hey!" Harry said. "I do not have tears in my eyes!" He reached toward the Quick-Quotes Quill with his left hand. Skeeter quickly leaned forward and pulled the quill away.

With Skeeter distracted by the quill, Harry's right hand darted out and snatched the parchment away. Skeeter frowned, and Harry flashed an arrogant grin. That had been too easy.

"So your readers want to know about my parents, do they?" Harry asked. The Quick-Quotes Quill twitched in Skeeter's hands, desperate to record Harry's words.

"Don't cross me, boy," Skeeter said nastily.

"I don't intend to," Harry said. "You want an interview about my life? My parents? I'll give you what you want. But you won't be using a Quick-Quotes Quill, and it won't be conducted in a broom cupboard." This was a fantastic opportunity for Harry. Allowing himself to be interviewed for The Daily Prophet would convince all of wizarding England that he wasn't taking the tournament seriously. And if appeared that Harry wasn't taking the tournament seriously, then the person who had entered his name in the Goblet wouldn't take a more active role to ensure Harry's demise. And the interview's side effect of increasing his exposure, influence, and fame? That would be useful, as well… as long as Harry survived the tournament.

"Fine," Skeeter snapped. "Now give me my parchment!"

Harry shook his head. "No Quick-Quotes Quills." He drew his wand and muttered a quick incendiary curse. The parchment burst into flame.

Skeeter's eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "You should tread lightly around me, Potter."

Before Harry could reply, the door to the broom cupboard was yanked open. Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway.

"Ack! Dumbledore!" Skeeter fell backwards off her bucket.

"Come along, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "The Weighing of the Wands is about to begin, and it won't do to have one of our champions locked away in a broom cupboard."

As Harry stepped out of the cupboard, he quickly turned back to Skeeter.

"Owl me," Harry said simply.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry considered the detentions he received for the stinksap incident to be well worth it; Harry's actions were hailed in Slytherin as the best prank upon Gryffindor in a decade, and the "Potter Stinks" badges had almost completely disappeared from the hallways.

In fact, the only people still wearing "Potter Stinks" badges were Slytherins themselves, who displayed them as a badge of honor. Tracey and Harry were never without their badges. For laughs, Tracey would occasionally put a clothespin on her nose, causing nearby students to flee in terror. The rest of Slytherin, including Draco only wore their badges intermittently. (Draco felt that the badges were "low class.")

Harry and his friends continued to research the tournament and practice spells. Despite Hermione's extraordinary research skills, and despite Harry's willingness to sneak into the library after curfew with his invisibility cloak, Harry and his friends had found very little that would be of use.

The Tri-Wizard challenges varied wildly from tournament to tournament, and were usually devised by the then-headmasters of the schools. Some former headmasters had displayed patterns—one headmaster of Durmstrang had selected four consecutive challenges involving a sphinx, for example, before the slaughter of twelve Tri-Wizard champions forced him to reconsider his position. But because it had been so long since the last tournament, Harry had no way of anticipating what the current headmasters would choose.

Harry considered going to Snape or Dumbledore for guidance, but Harry knew that any request for assistance would be regarded as cheating. Harry wasn't sure what the punishment for cheating would be, but he was certain that Barty Crouch would be eager to impose it. Harry already at enough of a disadvantage that he didn't need to further handicap himself.

Harry felt overwhelmed by frustration. He couldn't speak of it to his friends, because he didn't want to seem ungrateful for their help. Harry had to tell somebody, however, and his frustration finally boiled over in a letter to Sirius. Harry wasn't looking for help, exactly; he was looking to vent his anger. Then again, if Sirius could offer some help, Harry was fairly certain that he wouldn't be penalized; the ministry's formal position on Black was that Black was still a fugitive mass murderer. Ministry officials could no more conceive of Black helping Harry than they could conceive of Mad-Eye Moody helping Voldemort.

Harry tied his letter to Hedwig and sent her off into the sky. He received a response two days later. Sirius's response was curt, and not even signed: "Not safe to talk in letter. Contact Dumbledore immediately."

*!*!*

Harry approached Dumbledore in the Great Hall during lunch. Public meetings were above suspicion—there were too many witnesses for Harry to be accused of cheating. That, and Barty Crouch was taking his lunch only three seats away from Dumbledore. Percy Weasley, last year's head boy, was sitting between Crouch and Dumbledore. Whenever Crouch spoke, Wesley nodded his head rapidly, almost like a bird.

When Harry reached the head table, he opened his mouth to address Dumbledore. Dumbledore pre-empted Harry, however.

"Harry, despite your zealous attempts to shorten your series of detentions, my mind remains firm. Please report to my office this evening at eight o'clock to serve your final detention."

Harry glanced down. "Yes, sir."

Barty Crouch leaned forward. "Good on you, Dumbledore! Don't let those silver-tongued snakes talk you into leniency!" Percy Weasley nodded vigorously in agreement.

Using the eye that Crouch could not see, Dumbledore winked at Harry. "Off with you, Harry. Back to lunch."

Harry trotted back to the Slytherin table. He had never asked Dumbledore to shorten his detentions at all, let alone _zealously_. Had Sirius contacted Dumbledore? Was Dumbledore going to give Harry some sort of hint, or secret advice? Special training? A charmed object?

Harry's mind was still spinning with possibilities as he approached Dumbledore's office that evening. His hopes crashed, however, when he found a grinning Barty Crouch standing next to the gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office.

"Potter," said Crouch. "After hearing that you tried to escape your punishment, I thought that it would be interesting to see what Dumbledore had planned for you." Crouch leaned forward, grinning at Harry and exposing his large teeth. His face looked almost skull-like.

"I'm curious to know what Dumbledore has planned, as well," said Harry, refusing to show any weakness. Harry turned to the gargoyle. "Harry Potter to see Professor Dumbledore."

The gargoyle slid aside, and Harry ascended the steps. Crouch followed close behind.

When Harry arrived in Dumbledore's office, the headmaster was placing his penseive inside its cabinet.

"Hello, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said.

"Good evening, Harry," Dumbledore said. "And Mr. Crouch, what a pleasant surprise. Do we have business that I have forgotten?"

"Not at all. I simply wished to observe Mr. Potter's punishment," Crouch said. Harry thought it was far more likely that Crouch wanted to prevent Harry from receiving any special assistance behind closed doors.

"Alas," said Dumbledore, "I believe that you will be sorely disappointed. Tonight's disciplinary measures are rather plain." Dumbledore gestured toward a chair. "Harry, if you would have a seat?"

Harry sat. The chair faced Dumbledore's hearth. A small burned in the fireplace, surrounded by a large pile of red-hot cinders.

"Harry, your actions with the stinksap were unacceptable," Dumbledore said. "I want you to think about what you have done. When I return at the end of the evening, I expect an eloquent and well-reasoned apology. If I am not satisfied, you will continue to have detention with me until your apology is, as they say, 'up to snuff.'"

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Is that all?" Crouch demanded indignantly.

Dumbledore smiled. "Not at all. Harry, you have another responsibility. Please ensure that my fire neither goes out nor goes out of control. Magic is not allowed."

"Yes, sir," said Harry quietly.

"Thank you, Harry." Dumbledore turned to Crouch. "I assume that you do not wish to watch Mr. Potter in his quiet contemplation. Perhaps you would like to accompany me as I call upon Hagrid." Dumbledore took Crouch's elbow and gently steered him toward the door. "You will be impressed, I am sure, by the dedication Hagrid has shown to the tournament…"

As the door to Dumbledore's office closed, Harry made a mental note: talk to Hagrid about the tournament. Harry's large friend would never betray Dumbledore's trust intentionally, but it was almost inevitable that Hagrid would let some detail slip that would give Harry a clue about the upcoming challenges.

"Harry?"

Harry's head snapped around at the sound of his name. There was nobody else in the office.

"Over here, in the fireplace."

Harry turned slowly. A man's face floated in the flames. He was well groomed, with a neatly trimmed mustache and carefully combed hair. He had deep lines around his eyes, even though the rest of his face seemed much younger. It took Harry a moment to recognize him.

"Sirius? How?"

"Floo network," Sirius said. "The ministry doesn't monitor it half as well as they should." Sirius winked, and for a moment he seemed as young as Harry. "It's good to talk to you, Harry—I've been looking forward to the next time we could speak face to face."

"Me too," said Harry. It was only partly a lie—he was still a little uncomfortable with Sirius's anti-Slytherin sentiments. Also the fact that he had only ever met the man once.

"So tell me about the tournament?" said Sirius.

"Ugh," Harry said, sitting back in his chair. "I don't even want to talk about it. It's the worst."

"That bad, huh?"

"Could be better," Harry said. "A renegade dark wizard entered me in a tournament hoping for my death, I've been banned from the library so I can't do research, I'm three years behind the rest of the champions in terms of my education, and Snape and Dumbledore can't help me because Barty Crouch is convinced that I'm a born cheater." Harry took a breath. "Did I leave anything out?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "That's rather daunting. Are you any closer to discovering who put your name got in the cup?"

"I was going to ask you that." Harry frowned. "I had hoped that Dumbledore had told you something, since you're my godfather and all."

Sirius shook his head, and tongues of flame leapt upward from his hair. "Dumbledore told me that Moody is on the case, but nothing more."

"I am not reassured," Harry said. "Moody's barmy."

"Mad-eye can be odd, I'll give you that. But he's also one of the best aurors that's ever lived." Sirius said. "But I wasn't asking about Dumbledore, actually. Have _you_ gotten any closer to discovering who put your name in the cup?"

"No. After the initial shock, I haven't put much thought into it."

"I'm surprised, Harry. If your father and I had been faced with a mystery like that, we wouldn't have rested until it was solved. I meant that literally—we wouldn't have slept. We would have been out every night, looking for clues."

Harry drew his eyebrows together, annoyed. "Yeah, well, I've been a little preoccupied. Trying to figure out how to survive the tournament and all."

"Getting through the tournament is important, Harry, but you should be careful. Whoever put your name in the cup might not wait for the tournament to finish you off."

"Be careful? Sirius, that's practically all I do. Last year I thought you were trying to kill me, and the year before that the Heir of Slytherin was petrifying everybody. I know how to be careful."

"You're more at risk than you realize," Sirius said. "You're practically surrounded by people who might want to do you harm."

"Don't start this again," Harry said, but Sirius forged onward.

"Did you know that Igor Karkaroff was a Death Eater?"

"No." Harry sat back, surprised.

"He was in Azkaban at the same time as me. He was released after You-Know-Who was defeated. He turned on the other Death Eaters and gave their names to the Ministry."

"So he's not a Death Eater any more, then," Harry said.

"Nobody stops being a Death Eater, Harry. It isn't chess club. You can't just quit the team."

"But Karkaroff did," Harry said.

"Karkaroff was a coward," Sirius said. "He was the worst sort of Slytherin. He has no principles—he simply follows the power. His allegiances turn faster than a weather vane in a windstorm. If You-Know-Who returns, Karkaroff knows that he will be punished… unless he does something to redeem himself."

"Like killing me," Harry said. Sirius's jab at Slytherin had not gone unnoticed, however.

"I'm glad that you understand the danger you're in, Harry. You have to be careful." Sirius paused and glanced down. "The next thing I have to tell you may come as quite a shock, Harry. I'm sorry that I'm the one who has to tell you. You might hate me for it. But it needs to be said."

Harry leaned forward expectantly. Despite Sirius's words of warning, it was clear that Harry was about to learn a major secret.

"Harry… Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater."

"Oh." Harry sat up, disappointed. "I knew that already."

"You… knew?"

"Yes. Mr. Malfoy told me last year."

"You knew, and you still went to the Quidditch World Cup with him?"

"Yes, I did," said Harry crossly. "Dumbledore was comfortable with Mr. Malfoy taking me to the Quidditch World Cup this summer, and so was I."

"I'm disappointed in you," Sirius said quietly. Sirius was attempting to act like an adult, and it wasn't coming off well—he looked too much like a hurt puppy. "Death Eaters helped Voldemort kill your parents, Harry. It's insulting to their memory."

"Oh, so _now_ you're going to provide me with fatherly advice?" Harry snapped. "If you had been attending to your responsibilities as my godfather instead of getting yourself locked in Azkaban, maybe none of this would have happened."

"I know it's partly my fault…"

"Have you talked to Dumbledore about this?"

"No, but-"

"But maybe you should," Harry said. "Because I have. And you know what Dumbledore thinks? He thinks that people deserve a second chance."

"Harry, people might change, but not that much."

"No? You might want to ask Peter Pettigrew about that. You didn't notice the change in his character, did you?" It was a cheap shot, but Harry didn't feel bad about it.

"Lucius Malfoy bribed his way out of Azkaban!" Sirius was shouting, as if more volume would make him more convincing.

"So what? We're not talking about what Mr. Malfoy did then. We're talking about who he is now. He had a wife and an infant child to take care of. In his situation, I would have done the same thing."

Sirius's jaw dropped open. He was shocked into a moment of silence. "I'm… surprised that you feel that way."

"Why? I know how important family is, because I _never had one_. Lucius and Narcissa have treated me like a son. I'm going to judge them by who they are now, and not by some unproven allegations from fifteen years ago."

"I… I just… never expected to hear you say that." A hand appeared in the flames, and Sirius wiped his brow. "That explains the way you act around Snape, then," Sirius muttered, more to himself than to Harry.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You seem like you respect Snape," Sirius said.

"And what of it?" Harry did respect Snape—Snape had done as much as anyone to teach Harry how to be a Slytherin.

Sirius sighed.

"What?" Harry asked.

"I don't want to fight, Harry. This isn't why I wanted to speak with you."

Harry, however, was in a mood to be confrontational. "Don't change the subject. What, exactly, is wrong about respecting my head of house?"

"I just can't understand it, Harry. I could never respect somebody who used to be a Death Eater."

Harry stared blankly into the flames. Did Sirius just say that Snape was a Death Eater? The idea was absurd. If Snape was a Death Eater, then Dumbledore had to have known. And why would Dumbledore allow a former Death Eater to teach schoolchildren? There had to be some sort of mistake. Snape certainly looked like the type… but Snape had also prepared a trap to protect the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort. And Snape had tried to enter the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Ginny Weasley. Those weren't the actions of a Death Eater.

Sirius was speaking again. "Harry, I didn't want to spend the night arguing with you. I know you might not be happy with the things I've told you, but I thought it was important that you know, even if it made you unhappy." He seemed to have taken Harry's silence as resulting from anger, rather than shock. "Why don't we talk about something else?

Harry nodded mechanically. "Sure." His head was still spinning, trying to resolve the demanding-but-protective-of-Slytherins Snape he knew with a man who was cruel enough to be a Death Eater.

"Er…" Sirius seemed to be casting around for a subject. "What do you know about the challenges for the tournament?"

"Nothing," said Harry, snapping back to the present. "The first challenge is supposed to test our courage and daring in the face of the unknown, or some such rubbish."

"Those are very important parts of being a wizard," Sirius said. "Your father and mother both had plenty of courage and daring. I'm sure you have the same." Sirius clearly felt like he was on safer ground, complementing Harry's parents.

"The task sounds like it was tailor-made for a Gryffindor," Harry said. "It's probably Dumbledore's. He probably figured that a Gryffindor would be the Hogwarts champion. But instead, he got Diggory and me. Not known for courage, us badgers and snakes." Harry snorted bitterly. "Maybe Diggory and I should work together and cheat our way through the first task. It'd make both our houses proud."

"Actually, that's not a bad idea," Sirius said.

"Cheating?"

"You still have your father's invisibility cloak, right? And the Marauder's Map?"

"Sure."

"Well, why haven't you been using them?"

"I have," said Harry. "I go to the library every night and pour over books, looking for something that will help! I've hardly slept in the last two weeks, other than in class. I know the Restricted Section better than I know my own bed."

"The library?" Sirius started to laugh. "Harry, the tournament is being held _at Hogwarts_. Have you noticed anybody preparing for the first task? Are they wizards and witches walking around during the day, getting things ready?"

"No," said Harry. "I would have noticed that. I'm not stupid."

"Then they're doing it at night, when nobody is watching! So go find them!"

"That's…" Harry paused. "That's brilliant, actually."

Sirius grinned. His smile was young, even though it deepened the creases around his eyes. "You're right, it is brilliant. Your father and I spent more time sleeping in class than we did in our own beds. Had a right lot of fun doing it, I might add. So put on that cloak and _get out there,_ Harry. Make an old man proud."

"I don't even know where to start," Harry said. Except he did. "Actually, never mind that. I think I'm going to take a little walk by the Forbidden Forest after curfew." Harry smiled. His mood had improved, and clearly so had Sirius's.

"That's the spirit," Sirius said. "Now, remind me why Snivellus isn't helping you. When I see him next, I want to know why I'm hexing him. He should be doing everything he can for his underage champion."

"Give it a rest," Harry said. Sirius was clearly teasing. Teasing was something that Harry had no problem with. If you couldn't brush off teasing, you couldn't be a Slytherin. "You expect Snape to help me cheat because he and I are in Slytherin. But if he _was_ helping me, I bet you'd be whining that he was corrupting a minor."

"It's like we've known each other our entire lives," Sirius said, smiling. "Now that you have a real plan for the tournament, tell me about everything else."

"Er… what do you want to know?"

"How is it, being a Tri-Wizard Champion? I've been thinking about what I would have done, if I had been a champion when I was at Hogwarts… I would have been using the Hogwarts secret passages for a lot more than shortcuts to class, if you know what I mean." Sirius winked again, and made a clicking noise from the side of his mouth. Harry could easily imagine Sirius nudging him in the ribs with an elbow, if they had been in the same room.

"Oh. Um… Nothing on that front, really." Harry felt his face turning red.

"Come on, Harry! There have to be a few young witches who catch your eye!"

"Not really, no." Harry ran his hand through his hair. He could feel the flush of embarrassment as it crept down his neck.

"What about that friend you mentioned in your letters? Tracey Davis? She sounded like a nice young witch."

"She's just a friend," Harry said. Why was everybody making comments about Harry and Tracey, all of the sudden?

"I said that a lot, when I was about your age," Sirius said, scratching his chin. "I can't remember a time when it was the truth."

"Well, with me it is, okay? Tracey's my friend and I don't think of her that way."

"Maybe you should," Sirius said.

Harry ran his hand through his hair, again. "Mother of Merlin, will you just lay off? There's nothing with me and Tracey!"

"Fine, fine." Sirius's hands appeared in the fireplace, as he raised them in a gesture of surrender. "Nothing between you and Tracey. How about that Gryffindor I met last year?"

"Hermione?"

"That's the one. Since there's nothing between you and Tracey, maybe you're waiting for the right Gryffindor…"

"I. Can't. Believe. You." Harry's was clenching his teeth together. He raised his hand to his hair, but instead of running it through, he grabbed a frustrated handful.

"What? I'm just interested in my godson's life." Sirius grinned. "Tell me about Hermione."

"She's helping me with the tournament-"

"Ah-hah!"

"-but we also had a huge row about it."

"Your mother and father had some huge rows, too, and that turned out okay. It's a thing with Gryffindor women. Let me tell you, I had some spectacular rows when I was at Hogwarts, and they almost always ended well. There was this one girl, Wendy Woodsmith, and she had the biggest-"

"SIRIUS!"

"-voice that you ever heard." Sirius paused. "What?"

Harry shook his head. "That's not the type of fight I mean. Hermione was seriously thinking about dropping me as a friend."

"Oh. Sorry, Harry. But things are alright, now?"

Harry nodded. "For now."

"Well, then what are you waiting for? Ask her to Hogsmeade, before it's too late!"

"How did my father put up with you?"

"Your father _encouraged_ this behavior, I'll have you know."

Harry began to answer, but then stopped. There was a far-off rumbling sound, like stone grinding against stone.

"What is it?" Sirius asked.

"Shh."

Harry looked over his shoulder at the door to Dumbledore's office. He could hear the faint sound of voices coming from the other side. The grinding sound had been Dumbledore's gargoyle, moving aside. The headmaster and Mr. Crouch had returned.

"They're back," Harry said. "I have to go."

"Good luck, Harry," Sirius said. "Be careful!" Sirius's head disappeared from the flames.

Harry sat back in his chair. When Sirius was likeable, he was _really_ likeable. But when he was irritating, he was _really_ irritating.

The door opened, and Dumbledore stepped through, followed by Mr. Crouch.

"I see that my fire is still burning," Dumbledore said. "Have you had an opportunity to consider your apology?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said quietly. Harry had been so distracted by Sirius that he had forgotten to fabricate an apology. Luckily, the physical actions that suggested contrition were quiet, slow movements. Harry played them up, buying time to compose his apology on the fly.

"Let's hear it, then!" said Mr. Crouch, overly excited.

Dumbledore put out a hand, a gentle admonition for Crouch to calm himself. "I'm sure this is difficult for Harry," Dumbledore said. "He should feel free to apologize at his own pace."

Harry gave Dumbledore a small smile, then took a deep breath. "I realize that my actions with the stinksap were wrong. I was upset by the 'Support Cedric Diggory' badges, but I know that there are better ways I could have dealt with that situation." Harry paused and ran his hand through his hair. "Even though the stinksap was just an inconvenience, it could have been worse. It might have reacted with something that another student had been working on in another class, and I would never have known what until it was too late." Harry looked down at his feet. "Stealing the stinksap from Herbology was a betrayal of the trust that Professor Sprout places in her students. I'm very sorry."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm glad that you have realized that the wrongness of your actions goes deeper than the actual results. You apology is accepted." Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Please do not dwell on this more than you already have, Harry. While worse things might have come to pass, they did not. Take this incident for what it is: a prank that got out of hand." Crouch frowned at Dumbledore's words, but said nothing.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. Harry had learned long ago that a polite, 'yes, sir' would get him through most situations with his professors, especially Snape and Dumbledore.

"Very good. Back to your dormitory with you, then."

"Thank you, sir." Harry moved quickly to the door, closing it behind him before Crouch could say anything.

* * *

**A/N: **_I think Harry is really starting to come into his own as a Slytherin. Not perfect, of course, but making a reasonable attempt at cunning._


	14. Chapter 14

The next night, after dinner, Harry went down to visit Hagrid. Harry was wearing his winter robes to ward off the chill of November. His invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map were tucked in his inside pockets, and he carried his wand loosely in his hand. Harry arrived at Hagrid's without incident, but it never hurt to be prudent.

As Harry approached Hagrid's hut, he noticed that the ground surrounding the pumpkin patch was full of divots and gouges, as if two teams of horses had been playing polo on the grounds. The pumpkins near the edge of the patch were blackened on the side facing Harry, as if they had been seared in an oven.

Harry puzzled over the state of the pumpkins as he knocked on Hagrid's door.

"Harry! Good ter see yeh! Come on in!"

"Hi, Hagrid," Harry said as he stepped through the door. A large fire was roaring in the fireplace; Harry immediately took off his cloak and draped it over the back of one of Hagrid's chairs.

"Spot 'o tea?" Hagrid offered.

Harry shook his head and held out his hand. "No, thanks."

Hagrid shrugged, then walked over to his sink. He leaned to one side and looked at his face in a mirror that was comically small; Harry would barely have been able to see anything in the mirror, and he was less than half Hagrid's size.

"What kin I do fer yeh?" Hagrid asked, still looking into the mirror. He had begun to pluck at his beard with large fingers.

"I just felt like coming down for a visit," Harry lied. "I saw the pumpkin patch—what happened out there?"

"Blast-ended skrewts," Hagrid said. As if that explained anything. "I'm havin' the fourth years grow 'em. A whole lot got loose this week an' blasted half the pumpkin patch before Hermione an' Ron got 'em wrangled."

As Hagrid spoke, be produced a small comb from his pocket and began to drag it through his hair. The comb became tangled every few inches. Rather than pulling it out and picking through the tangles, Hagrid simply forced the comb through the hair. After several jerks and yanks, the comb snapped in half. Apparently, the strength of Hagrid's arm, and hair, was too much.

"That won' do," Hagrid muttered.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked.

"Nothin'," Hagrid said. "Jus' tryin' ter make myself a bit presentable, yer know."

"But why? You've never worried about combing your hair since I've known you."

"Oh, well… erm…" Hagrid began to turn red beneath his beard.

Harry had seen this sort of behavior before, when older Slytherin boys were trying to pluck up the courage to ask a girl to Hogsmede. Harry smiled. "Hagrid, do you have a date tonight?"

"I wouldn' call it a date, iffin yeh take my meanin'," Hagrid said.

"Are you taking a woman out to show her a good time?"

"Well, yeah…"

"Then it's a date! Congratulations!"

Hagrid turned an even deeper red. "Don' make me nervous, Harry."

"Where are you taking her?"

"Well, we're goin' into the Forbidden Forest."

Harry frowned. "Hagrid. That sounds like a horrible date. Why aren't you going to the Three Broomsticks? Girls like it when a guy takes them out to dinner."

"I got summat a lot more impressive than dinner," Hagrid said. "You wouldn' believe it unless you saw it fer yerself."

"I'm intrigued." Harry leaned forward. "What's the big plan?"

"Well, we're goin' to see Charlie Weasley. Yer remember him, right?"

"Ron's older brother? Sure." He had only met Charlie once, during first year, at the top of the astronomy tower. Harry and Draco had teamed up with Ron and Hermione to rid Hagrid of Norbert the dragon, before Norbert burned Hagrid out of house and home. "Is this some sort of double date?"

"No, Charlie's here on business," Hagrid said.

"What business?"

Hagrid abruptly stopped speaking and glanced down at the floor. "Shouldn've said that," he muttered. "Shouldn've said that."

"Why?" Harry already had a good idea, but he needed Hagrid to confirm it.

"Because yer a champion, Harry," Hagrid said. "I can't help you. Dumbledore wouldn' approve."

"That's okay," Harry said. "I understand. Tell me some more about these blast-ended skrewts. They sound dead interesting."

As Hagrid launched into a description of the skrewts, Harry's mind was elsewhere. Charlie Weasley, dragon tamer, was in the Forbidden Forest. And Weasley was there with something that Hagrid felt would impress a woman. And Hagrid wasn't supposed to talk about it, especially not to Harry, because Harry was a champion.

That had been easier than Harry thought. The first task was dragons, in some capacity. Unfortunately, there were a lot of dragons in the world. And the task could be any number of things involving a dragon. Harry had more to go on than he did before, but not enough to feel confident.

Hagrid was expounding on the explosive properties of the blast-ended skrewt when a knock rang out on Hagrid's door. Hagrid leapt to his feet. "That mus' be Olympe," Hagrid said. "A few hours early, but tha's alright."

"Who?"

"Bong sewer, Madame," Hagrid said proudly as he opened the door.

"Excuse me?" asked Percy Weasley, who was standing on Hagrid's doorstep.

Hagrid's head dropped. "I though' yeh were someone else," he mumbled.

"I should hope so," Percy said primly. "Is Harry Potter here?"

"Sure is," Hagrid said. "Come on in."

Percy bustled into the room, holding his head high. He sniffed disdainfully as he glanced around, before his eyes finally settled on Harry. "There you are," Percy said. "I was hoping to speak with you for a few moments."

"Go right ahead," Harry said. He had never particularly liked Percy Weasley. When Weasley was Head Boy last year, he had been nearly insufferable with his enforcement of the rules. His only saving grace was his apparent embarrassment at the behavior of his twin brothers, which caused Percy to be just as strict with the Gryffindors as he was with the Slytherins.

Percy glanced around. "In private?"

"Fine." Harry stood and shrugged on his cloak. "Good luck on your date, Hagrid. When is Madame Maxime coming by?"

"I tol' her ter meet me 'round nine," Hagrid said.

"It's not even half eight!"

"I'm jus' nervous," Hagrid said.

"You'll be great." Harry reached out and patted Hagrid on the arm. "I'll talk to you soon, Hagrid."

"Bye, Harry."

Harry and Percy walked out of Hagrid's hut. As he closed the door, Harry saw Hagrid absent-mindedly stroking Fang for comfort. Harry smiled. His large friend was all heart. Hopefully, the date would go well.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Harry asked innocently. Weasley worked for Mr. Crouch. Certainly he didn't suspect that Harry was pumping Hagrid for information… right?

"I wanted to thank you," Percy said.

"For what?"

"For that business with my sister two years ago," Percy said. "I never properly thanked you. When I was Head Boy, I was too distracted by the daily duties. Knowing the danger you face in the tournament, however, caused me to realize that I may not have the opportunity to thank you for much longer."  
"Gee, thanks," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Percy continued, unperturbed. He had either failed to notice, or chose to ignore, Harry's tone. "I also realized that several of my older brothers had not properly thanked you. This situation cannot be remedied with William. Charles, however…"

"What about Charlie?"

"Follow me," Percy said. He walked quickly into the Forbidden Forest. Harry, after a moment of stunned inaction, followed quickly.

Percy led Harry deep into the forest. The sun had set long ago, and Harry found himself stumbling frequently on roots and bushes. He briefly considered using his wand to cast _lumos_, but thought better of it—there were many hungry things in the forest, and he did not want to attract the attention of any of them.

After walking for nearly ten minutes, Harry discovered that he was finding an easier time keeping his footing. The forest seemed lighter, somehow. In fact, the forest was _definitely _lighter, and the light was coming from up ahead.

Percy stopped at the edge of a clearing. Harry found himself standing near several tents and campfires. On the other side of the tents, out of sight, there was an enormous commotion. Harry could hear voices shouting, and the occasional flash of a spell through the forest.

"What's this?" Harry asked.

"Charles is camped here," Percy said. "Wait here and I will retrieve him. Do not—I repeat, DO NOT—go snooping around." With that, Percy disappeared among the tents.

Percy's warning had the opposite of its desired effect. As soon as Percy was out of sight, Harry unfurled his invisibility cloak and followed. Harry caught glimpses of Percy as the older boy moved quickly through the camp, and Harry struggled to keep up. When Percy made it to the other side of the tents, Harry had to sprint to avoid losing him. Harry dashed around the corner of a tent and found himself confronted by…

Dragons.

Harry had gleaned from Hagrid that the first task would involve dragons. Harry had even seen a juvenile dragon before during first year. But nothing in Harry's intellectual knowledge had prepared him for his visceral and instinctive reaction to seeing a full grown dragon. Put most simply: Harry wanted to run.

Harry forced away his urge to flee. He quickly took in his surroundings. Three of the dragons appeared to be a sleep, while a fourth appeared to just be waking. A half-dozen wizards in dragonskin armor were surrounding the waking dragon. At the edge of the clearing, Percy was speaking with another redhead. The other man appeared older than Percy and was wearing dragonskin armor. After a moment, Harry recognized the other man as Charlie.

Charlie and Percy began to walk back toward the tents. Harry gave one last glance at the dragons, then began to sprint back toward the edge of the forest. He wanted to make it back before Percy realized that he had been followed.

Harry arrived just a breath before Percy and Charlie. He was still stuffing his invisibility cloak into his robe when the pair of Weasleys sauntered up.

"Harry Potter," said Charlie. "Good to meet you!" Charlie said this loudly and conspicuously. Harry suddenly realized that Percy would have no reason to know that Charlie and Harry had ever met during first year.

"Great to meet you, too," said Harry. "I've heard a lot about you from Ron. Can't stop talking about his brother the dragon tamer."

Percy seemed taken aback. "Oh, er, you know what Charlie does for a living?"

"Of course!" Harry said. "It sounded so cool, how could I forget? Plus, he's wearing dragonskin."

Percy began to turn a sickly color of green. Charlie laughed at his brother.

"Come on, Perce. You had to have known that Harry would figure it out."

"I certainly did not!" Percy said, indignant. "I simply wanted to give you an opportunity to comport yourself like a gentleman, and properly thank Harry for all that he's done for our family."

"Figure what out?" Harry asked, playing dumb.

"NOTHING!" Percy said loudly.

"Ignore my brother," said Charlie. "I was just saying that Percy couldn't bring you out here to speak with me and expect that you wouldn't realize why I was at Hogwarts."

"Wait… are you here because…" Harry was playing dumb, trying the same tactic he had used on Hagrid. Harry wanted to have as much information as possible, to minimize the conclusions he would have to jump to.

"Yep. I'm here with the dragons."

"Wow..." Harry said breathlessly. "Am I going to have to fight a dragon?"

"NO TALKING ABOUT THE TASK!" Percy shouted.

"Shove off, Perce," Charlie said. "If I'm going to thank Potter, I'm going to thank him right proper." Charlie turned back to Harry. "You won't have to fight one, actually. More like, 'get past and survive,' I should think."

"Oh, well that's much easier," Harry said sarcastically.

"Actually, it is," Charlie said. "All you have to do is—"

"STOP!" Percy ran between Charlie and Harry, waving his arms. "You're compromising the competition! I'll have to report you!"

"I'll have to report _you_," Charlie said. "I didn't tell Harry anything. I'm sure Harry will remember it the same way. The only thing that happened tonight, Percy, is that _you_ took an incredible risk by bringing Harry here. That's the sort of risk that Mr. Crouch would frown upon, don't you think? The sort of risk that would get you fired? End your ministry career before it even started?"

Percy went white. "You wouldn't."

"Of course not!" Charlie flung his arm around his brother's shoulders. "I wouldn't report you, because you wouldn't think about interfering with a proper 'thank you' for young Mr. Potter." Charlie squeezed Percy's shoulders, hard. Percy, who was much more slightly built than Charlie, winced under the pressure. "Right, Perce?"

"This is extortion!" Percy blurted.

"Not at all," Charlie said. "This is the right thing to do."

Percy was silent for a few moments. "Very well," he muttered.

"I knew you'd see the light!" Charlie said. He released Percy. The younger Weasley stumbled away and began smoothing his clothes as Charlie turned back to Harry. "Now, as I was saying, it's fairly easy to get past a dragon. They're big. Having a lot of mass slows them down. Now, I'd never call a dragon 'slow,' and certainly not where one might overhear me. But they're slower than a wizard on a broom."

Harry smiled. "You were a seeker for Gryffindor, weren't you?"

"Darn right. And I hear that you've spent the last three years tormenting my former teammate, Oliver Wood."

"Wood's overenthusiastic," Harry said.

"No such thing, with quidditch," Charlie replied.

"Wood treats it like a religion."

"Who says it isn't?"

Harry laughed out loud. "I like you, Charlie. So, I should be able to out-fly the dragon. But don't they, you know, breathe fire? What if that happens?"

"In real life, you run!"

"This isn't real life. Can I out-fly dragon fire?"

"Yes, if you know what to look for. A dragon will draw its head back when it's preparing its fire, and bring it forward just before it breathes. When you see the head go back, get out of the way."

"What if I can't get out of the way?" Harry asked. "Is there a shield I can use? How about a water conjuring charm—is there a stronger incantation than _aguamenti_?"

Charlie shook his head. "I don't think there's a wizard alive who could cast a shield that would stop dragon fire. And an incantation like _aguamenti_ would be like spitting in a volcano. If you're truly desperate, you can try fighting fire with fire, but make sure you're already running when you do."

"That's enough," said Percy. He had finally regained his composure. "Stop giving the boy bad ideas. You've done quite enough already."

Harry looked back to Charlie and shrugged. "Thanks for the advice, Charlie. It's dead useful."

"Don't mention it," Charlie said. He reached behind him, and pulled a pair of gloves out from his belt. They matched the gloves he was wearing. "I want you to have these, as well."

"Dragonhide gloves?" Harry said. "I couldn't." Dragonhide was insanely expensive. It was warm, soft, and nearly indestructible… but it was also as rare as dragons themselves.

"It's my old pair," Charlie said. "As you can see, we all got new equipment for the tournament. We have to look good for the crowd while we stand by and make sure that nobody dies a fiery death."  
"Well… thanks, then," Harry said. He pulled on the gloves immediately. They were a little large, but the fit wasn't too bad. "Can you really save somebody if they get hit with dragon flame?"  
Charlie shrugged. "We can try. I'd watch out for the Hungarian Horntail, though. He's nasty at both ends. If you get run through by one of those spikes, there's nothing anybody will be able to do to save you."

"Why did you even bring it?"

Charlie frowned. "We had to find a fourth dragon on short notice."

"Because of me."

"That's the rumor." Charlie glanced down at his watch. "I have to get back. I'm meeting Hagrid to show him the dragons, and they're about to wake up." Charlie reached out and shook Harry's hand. "Thank you, Harry. What you did for our family… there's nothing we'll ever be able to do to repay you. But it certainly won't stop us from trying."

"You're welcome," said Harry. "Hogwarts is a better place with Ginny in it."

Charlie said goodbye to Percy, then walked back through the camp. Harry followed Percy out of the woods. As they walked away from the camp, Harry caught a glimpse of two large silhouettes strolling through the forest: Hagrid and Madame Maxime. Harry smiled, then frowned.

A hunched form skulked behind the couple. The person, whoever it was, was keeping his distance. It was clear that Hagrid was being followed.

Harry glanced ahead. Percy was striding confidently through the woods. It took only a couple of seconds for Harry to drop back, slip behind a tree, and throw on his invisibility cloak. Once he was concealed, Harry dashed through the forest, determined to uncover the identity of the wizard who was stalking his friend.

Harry knew that he was taking a chance with his safety. The most likely person to be stalking Hagrid was the same person that had submitted Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire. But if that person was intent on following Hagrid, he wouldn't be worried about being followed himself. Harry would have the advantage of surprise, and Harry was competent in a duel. And if it turned into a duel, Hagrid and Madame Maxime were only a few dozen paces away.

As Harry approached, the identity of the skulking figure became clear: Igor Karkaroff, headmaster of Durmstrang. Harry followed behind at a slight distance. It was possible that Karkaroff was just trying to get an advantage for the tournament, but it was also possible that he was up to something more nefarious.

Once Hagrid arrived at the campsite, however, it became clear that Karkaroff was, for tonight at least, simply a cheater, and not a Death Eater. While Hagrid and Madame Maxime examined the dragons, Karkaroff stayed at a distance, and actually took notes on a piece of parchment regarding the various dragon species. Harry rolled his eyes, and turned back.

As Harry neared the edge of the forest, he came upon Percy Weasley. Weasley was stalking back and forth at the edge of the trees. "Potter!" he whispered. "Potter!? Where are you?"

Harry ducked behind a tree and removed his cloak. "Weasley? Are you still out here?"

"Potter! Thank Merlin!" Percy sagged against a tree. "Where did you get off to?"

"Nowhere," lied Harry. "I was right behind you. You started veering away from the castle, so I just took the straight line back. When I didn't see you crossing the grounds, I came back."

"That's…" Percy looked around, suddenly confused. "Am I really that far off?"

"Yes," Harry said with a laugh. "Have you forgotten the grounds already?"

Percy lifted his nose in the air. "I didn't make it my business to sneak around the Forbidden Forest. It is, after all, forbidden."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Let's just get back to the castle."

* * *

**A/N:** _A recent review argued that this series is "just a rewrite of canon" and that things happen exactly as they do in the book. This is a legitimate criticism, and one of the things that I have been most concerned about as I wrote (and continue to write). Unfortunately, the review was posted anonymously, so I can't engage in any sort of dialogue with the reviewer. The best I can do to respond is post my thoughts here. I don't want to seem defensive—the ship has long since sailed on my plot, and this story is what it is—but I made my decision consciously, and I do think that the subject is worth discussing. _

_If you don't want to read the author's longwinded musings on the nature of fiction and fanfiction, get out while you still can!_

_This is what I think… Speculative fiction-and therefore, much of fanfiction-is about a thought experiment. Every sci-fi or fantasy story asks the same essential question: What would happen if…? In this case, I'm wondering what would happen if Harry had been sorted into Slytherin? I think that the most interesting way to answer that question is to throw Slytherin Harry into the same (or similar) situations as canon's Gryffindor Harry. I want to see the contrasts in Harry's thoughts and actions, the differences. If Slytherin Harry is in a situation that Gryffindor Harry never encountered, it's harder to say that I've learned anything about Harry's character; maybe Gryffindor Harry would have done exactly the same thing. In a way, this story is like a science experiment; change one variable at a time, so we can understand what effect it has on everything else._

_It's not something that every fic can, or should, do. _Harry Potter and the Wastelands of Time_, for example, by joe6991, is one of the best and most original fics I have ever read, and it diverges completely from canon on page one. But joe6991's goals with _Wastelands_ are not the same goals I have in _Slytherin Selection_. Joe6991 has a crazy awesome story to tell. I view my work as something akin to an extended commentary on Rowling's characters and themes. I could write it out as one enormous and boring essay, but this seemed like more fun._

_On that note, I'd like to take this opportunity to announce my next series. It's an AU of _Harry Potter and the Slytherin Selection_, and this time, I'm changing another variable.__ Harry will be sorted into Slytherin, but Hermione will be sorted into Ravenclaw. Who knows what crazy things will happen? I'm halfway through the first of seven books._

_Just kidding on that, by the way._


End file.
